LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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" Shelf. A&6p2 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Summer in the Azores 



A GLIMPSE OF MADEIRA 



C. ALICE BAKER 



LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK 
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM 
1882 



Copyright, 1882, 
By C. ALICE BAKER 



4 



k9 



TO 

S. M. L, 

MY LIFE-LONG FRIEND AND COMPANION 

AND 

E. L. C, 

TO WHOSE AFFECTION I OWE MY 

Summer in tfje ^jorea* 

Cambridge, May, 1882. 



PREFACE. 



Y apology for printing these fragmentary 
impressions must be found in the fact, 
that excepting a delightful magazine 
article on Fayal, by Colonel T. W. Higginson, 
there exists no satisfactory picture of life in the 
Azores. 

Barely mentioned in the geographies, these 
islands have hitherto been almost neglected by 
the pleasure-seeker. The tide of travel recently 
setting that way warrants the prediction that they 
will ere long be regarded as a desirable half- 
way-station on the great highway of European 
travel. A line of United-States steamers, con- 
necting there with the Portuguese line, would 
thus enable the tourist to enter Europe by way 
of the Spanish Peninsula, and open up the mag- 
nificent scenery of these islands and of Portugal, 
now so little known, and so well worth knowing. 




4 



PREFACE. 



While this is as yet only a probability, it may 
still be fairly said, that in no other bit of foreign 
travel can one get so much enjoyment, with so 
little expenditure of strength and money, as in a 
summer voyage to the Western Islands, in one 
of the excellent sailing-vessels now plying regu- 
larly to those ports from Boston and New Bed- 
ford. 

In the Azores every thing is novel, and noth- 
ing is new. The tired teacher finds here en- 
forced rest with continual diversion ; the nervous 
invalid, an engrossing change of scene, with ab- 
solute quiet, no temptation to hurry, and no 
excuse for worry. To the artist, the botanist, 
the geologist, and the philologist, they offer a 
rich and almost unexplored field. 

C. A. B. 

Cambridge, April, 1882. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Preface 5 

The Start 7 

At Sea 11 

Land ho ! 24 

Fayal and its Port 31 

Street-Scenes in Horta 44 

Donkeys 50 

Peasant Life in Fayal . . 54 

The Caldeira 66 

Capello and the Mysterio 74 

Pico 82 

A Peep at San Jorge, Graciosa, and Terceira . 87 

San Miguel and its Port 93 

The Furnas. — Grena and the Caldeiras ... 98 

Peasant Life in the Furnas 107 

A Ball in the Furnas 115 

Farewell to the Furnas 120 

Red Tape . 125 

Madeira 131 

In Quarantine off Funchal 136 

Ashore in Madeira .141 

5 x 



6 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



Queer Conveyances 144 

Sight-seeing 148 

On Horseback • • . • 154 

Coasting 161 

In the Azores again 165 

AdeosI 173 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



THE START. 



Tuesday, June 12. 



HE vague idea has become a reality. 



Our staterooms are engaged. Eetracing 



our steps from the office, an added dig- 
nity attends us. We feel as if all we meet must 
know that we are about to visit foreign shores. 

Later, painful rumors reach us of the unsea- 
worthiness of the steamer : her date of sailing 
is postponed ; and the bark, which heretofore 
we have scorned, begins to loom up as a pos- 
sibility. "A sailing- vo} r age would be such an 
experience!" cry our young folks. Even we 
elders, ambition being not yet dead in our hearts, 
already feel that it is a little commonplace to go 
by steamer. " A voyage of twenty days would 
be much more restful for your invalid," urges the 




8 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



doctor. "And just the thing for my weak 
eyes," pleads our collegian. "And a sailing- 
vessel is so much more picturesque!" adds a 
romantic friend, dropping in at this crisis. We 
begin to despise the steamer ; and, in proportion 
to the doubt as to whether there is room for us 
on the bark, it becomes the desire of our hearts 
to go in her. Finally it is so decided. Her 
owners telegraph us in relation to passports, as 
to the color of our eyes and hair, and the shape 
of our noses and chins. The latter, after pro- 
tracted consultation, we each describe as Roman 
and medium. 

The eventful day arrives, — six o'clock of a 
summer morning, fresh and clear. The water 
lies still and smooth as we go over the bridge to 
the city. Too early for the train, and just in 
time to see the awakening of a great metropolis. 
The organ-grinder and his monkey breakfasting 
together as they crawl towards town. Old wo- 
men polishing their apples, and peanut- venders 
setting up their stoves at the street-corners. 
Sleepy men-servants washing sidewalks. Coils 
of hose like great gray serpents of the night, 
awaking with a hiss, and retreating, as the day 
brightens, into back areas. Cross housemaids 



THE START. 



9 



venting their spleen upon imperturbable door- 
mats. 

An hour of pulsating waiting at the station. 
Meantime the wind, that should be west, gets 
dead east. Friends to be left behind grow quiet. 
Finally the last words are uttered. Re-assuring 
reminders that it is but for three months, which 
will be gone before we know it ; ever} 7 one of us 
being keenly conscious that three months is time 
enough for all woes to accumulate. The train 
moves reluctantly forward. 

A crowd is assembled at the wharf* The 
bark looks like a toy-ship. The narrow berths 
are dreadfully suggestive of coffins ; but it is too 
late to retreat. We hurry on deck, but the rail- 
ing is so low ! 

" You no stay here for two, tree days, ma'am, 
by'm-by dere be life-line," says the Portuguese 
steward. Neither prospect pleases. The lug- 
gage is tossed on board. Ship-trunks, labelled 
"Stateroom," are packed in the hold; shore- 
trunks, labelled "Hold," squeezed into state- 
rooms. The second mate brings order out of 
chaos. "All ashore," is sounded. A little girl, 
who is going with her mother to Madeira, weeps 
piteously at parting with her father. The cap- 



10 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



tain, a pleasant-faced man, steps quietly on 
board. " Good luck to you!" cry the owners 
from the pier. The plank is taken up. The 
pilot goes forward. A baby steam- tug takes us 
in tow ; and silently, our flag saluting, we drop 
down the harbor. Handerchiefs wave, a few 
tears are shed, and the long voyage is begun. 



AT SEA. 



11 



m 



AT SEA. 

Tuesday, June 12. 

j|HE dinner-table is crowded. "There'll 
be room enough to-morrow," says the 
captain significantly. 
The afternoon wears slowly on. We seek the 
shade for our ship-chairs, and lie rashly eating 
oranges. The more provident go below, and 
prepare their staterooms against rough weather. 
Our invalid pleads headache, and betakes her- 
self to her berth. Strangers exchange incred- 
ulous glances, and the steward tucks her up 
with the comforting assurance, " You'll be all 
right in a day or two, ma'am." She is too sick 
to resent this imputation on her sea-going qual- 
ities. I go down often to cheer her, but soon 
notice that the cabin floor meets me half-way as 
I descend, and there is a peculiar tightness about 
my head. 

Tired of our slow progress, the captain, at 



12 A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



five p. m., hails a larger tug. All rally to write 
a last word home by the pilot, who pulls off in 
his yawl. 

At six the "Nelly" is ordered to let go. 

"How many are there to go back?" shouts 
the master of the "Nelly." 

One, at least, would gladly have answered to 
the call, had pride permitted. 

" Good-by, and good luck, then," cries the 
' 6 Nelly ; ' ' and the last link is broken between us 
and home. 

I keep up my offices of friendship till the tea- 
bell rings, then turn in, unmistakably seasick. 

The hubbub of supper ends. The cabin lamp 
is lighted, and begins its monotonous jingle 
and swing. Darkness settles down, and with 
it silence steals over the passengers. All seek 
their couches early, and frantic cries of u Stew- 
ard ! " resound. 

The captain paces the deck above us. Now 
and then he gives a quiet order. A cheerful 
"Ay, ay, sir," and it is obeyed. The ship 
scarcely moves. The sails are altered every half- 
hour, in vain attempts to catch a breeze. A 
great steamer, brilliantly lighted, passes dan- 
gerously near us, outward bound. We hail a 



AT SEA. 



13 



schooner drifting near with, "Schooner ahoy! 
Which way is the tide setting in the Sound?" 
" South-west by south." And we part company. 

At midnight I wake, burning with fever, and 
begging for ice : at sunrise creep on deck for 
air, — but, alas ! there is none. We lie be- 
calmed off Block Island. A boy in a row-boat 
comes alongside. He lives near the post-office, 
and will take letters. 

" t didn't expect to send back a mail every 
day on this trip," says the captain with grim 
facetiousness. 

Our last WT>rds threaten to number as many as 
the final appearances of a well-known actress. 

At ten a. m. we bear away to the west-north- 
west from Block Island; " from which," says 
the mate's log, "I take my departure," — from 
land's end to land's end being the nautical 
voyage. 

Hot air on deck, and no air below. A pitiless 
sun making havoc with our shore skins : a heavy 
swell lifting up and letting down our shore stom- 
achs in sickening alternation. 

Our little six-year-old passenger, who is very 
miserable, creates a diversion by confiding in a 
loud whisper to her mother, that she hates trav- 



14 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



elling, and asking pathetically, u Shall I have 
to take a journey when I'm married, mamma?" 

" Light, baffling airs," continues the log. We 
are learning the meaning of that word baffling as 
we never could have done on land. Tediously 
tacking all day and all night, from Long Island 
to Nantucket Shoals light, the end of the second 
day's voyage finds us, after two hundred and 
fifty miles of sailing, but fifty miles on our jour- 
ney, scarcely one-fortieth of the whole distance. 
For all we have gained, we might as well have 
been sleeping in quiet beds at home. 

We begin to envy those who will commit them- 
selves to the steamer. 

The morning of the third day is ushered in by 
the cry of ' c Porps ! porps ! ' ' The sailors har- 
poon a porpoise ; and the sound of the poor 
creature, flapping in its death-agony on the deck, 
I shall not soon forget. 

"A strong breeze, wind south-west, and all 
sail set to the best advantage." The passen- 
gers revive, and aim to become nautical. The 
compass is attacked, and the spanker comes in 
for a share of attention. 

The monotony of sea-life is varied by the 
usual incidents and accidents. July 2, at sun- 



AT SEA. 



15 



set, the cry of "There she blows!" which 
often rings through the ship, rousing the old 
whaling instincts of captain and crew, is sud- 
denly changed. " It's no whale!" cries the 
mate. The captain runs to the mast-head. The 
crew press on deck. The excitement is intense. 
"A boat, keel up ! " say some. " A wreck ! " 
echo the others. The ship is put about. Prep- 
arations are making to go to the scene of the 
disaster. Imagination is busy depicting possible 
horrors, — men starving, dead — "It's only a 
whale's carcass!" shouts the captain, coming 
down. The crew disperse, and all are relieved. 

July 4, the gooseneck of the spanker gaff 
breaks ; and the heavy boom comes crashing 
down to within six feet of our heads, but for- 
tunately gets entangled in the rigging, and no 
one is hurt. 

We never cease to wonder at the patience of 
our captain : the petty complaints, the trivial ques- 
tions, of which he is the daily victim, do not dis- 
turb his serenity. The steward is a philosopher. 
Though the ship is new and clean, it is in- 
fested with fleas, — an inevitable accompaniment 
of every cargo from the islands. After several 
sleepless nights in consequence of these ma- 



16 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



rauders, I lay my troubles before the steward, 
who, after vainly endeavoring to persuade me 
that they are imaginary, calmly dismisses the 
matter with, "Ver' well, you like 'em, you have 
'em." A truly Jean Pauline solution of the 
difficulty. "He who goes out for snakes will 
surely meet one, but he who goes out for roses 
will return with them blooming in his bosom." 
With admirable perception of character, the 
steward reads us all, and his remarks to us are 
piquant aphorisms of personal application ; yet 
his devotion to the sick, and his good-nature, 
are untiring. A dozen times a day I find him 
smiling at my bedside with a cup of unsavory 
pottage, and sternly bid him begone. "Ver' 
well," he says, as he goes: "you no eat, you 
die." And his argument is irresistible. 

Lying on one's back and looking up at the sky 
through the twelve hours of these long July days 
is tedious enough. Dead calm: water glassy — 
not a ripple ; the heat intense ; the glare from 
the sails almost intolerable. 

The sunsets are monotonous and disappoint- 
ing ; the moonrise magnificent. Lying on deck 
till late into the night, and gazing up at the 
sails gleaming white in the light of the full 



AT SEA. 



17 



moon, every rope painted in shadow on their 
snowy surface, we realize the picturesqueness 
of the ship. Stately and grand she walks the 
waters, with a majestic motion, as exhilarating 
as a triumphal march. Alone in mid-ocean, we 
feel neither desolation nor fear, but a surprising 
sense of security and confidence. 

Our evenings are enlivened by music and 
story-telling. We have the whaler's tale, the 
slaver's tale, — a whole Decameron of thrilling 
experiences : finally, we have the captain's tale, 
of his rescue of a Fenian prisoner in Australia, 
now a well-known editor. I give it in his own 
words : — 

THE CAPTAIN'S TALE. 

u One day in March, 1869, while we was 
layin' in port off Bunbury in Western Austra- 
lia, I was ashore ; and I see a nice lookin' young- 
fellow, about twenty-four years old, eyin' me 
pretty sharp. He was at work on a chain-gang. 
Watchin' his chance, he says to me, i Are you 
the mate of that whaler ? ' 

44 c Yes,' says I. 

"Then says he, 'Has the priest said any 
thing to you about me ? ' 



18 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



" 'No,' says I. 

"'Well, he's goin' to,' says he, and passed 
on quick. 

"The priest follered right along, and asKed 
me if I'd ever seen that young man before. 

"'Never to my knowledge,' says I. 

" Then he told me it was , a Fenian 

prisoner ; that he had been confined in Dart- 
moor prison in England for seven months, and 
then sent to Australia for life ; that he'd ben 
there goin' on 'leven months, and wanted to get 
off : and the upshot of it was, the priest offered 
me five hundred dollars to get him off. 

"I told him I didn't want his money. If 
he'd ben a thief, or a murderer, I wouldn't 
have tried to help him anyway ; but I couldn't 
make out that he'd committed any crime : so 
the priest and I, we fixed it that the next day, 
when my ship got under weigh, I should pick 
him up in the yawl — and I did. 

"It beat all how quick everybody on board 
took to that fellow, — he was so pleasant, and 
such a handsome young chap. 

" Well, come August, we had to put into Rod- 
rigues for water. It was that, or die of thirst. 
That's not far from Mauritius in the Indian Ocean. 



AT SEA. 



19 



"By this time the news of 's escape had 

got ahead of us, and was known all over the 
world. It was just before sunset when a boat 
from shore come alongside, and her officer 
boarded us. 

" was standin' just as near me as I be 

to you, when the officer up and says to me, 
' Have you got a man aboard by the name of 

" I kind of thought a minute, — it seemed as 
if 'twas about an hour, — and then I says 6 No,' 
says I, very quiet : 4 we did have a fellow aboard 
by the name of Brown, but he died two months 
ago at Java.' 

"He looked at me a minute; then says he, 
' Well, you've got some ticket-of-leave men 
aboard, haven't you ? ' 

" I was mighty glad he asked me that ; for I 
thought it would take up his attention, and give 
me a little time to think. 

" ' I can't say as to that,' says I. 

"'Well,' says he, 'call your men up from 
forrard, and we'll soon find out.' 

"'No,' says I: 'I don't want nothin' to do 
with that kind of business. t You can look for 
yourselves if you like.' 



20 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

So he and his gang went forrard, and hauled 
out the stowaways, and put 'em aboard their 
boat, and pulled ashore, appearin' to be satis- 
fied. 

" As soon as they were gone, , half crazy, 

says to me, c My God ! it's all up with me ! 
What can I do ? They'll come back for me, 
but I'll never be taken alive ! ' 

"I knew he meant what he said; for the 
priest had told me he'd tried to commit suicide, 
and, if he couldn't escape, had determined to 
kill himself. I calmed him down ; told him to 
go below, and keep out of sight, and I'd try 
to think up something : but says I, 4 You sha'n't 
be taken as long as I can stand by you.' 

"I knew very well that as soon as they got 
ashore those ticket-of-leave men would blow on 
him ; and I really didn't know what to do. 
Things looked black. 

"By this time it got to be dark, and I sat 
down by myself to think. Then I remembered 
a kind of locker under the stairs, where the 
steward sometimes kep' the dishes he wasn't 
usin'. It was shet by pushin' one of the stairs 
right over it. I knew they'd never find him 
there. Then I went to , and told him to 



AT SEA. 



21 



go and find a little grindstone there was on the 
ship, while I kep' the men busy forrard. When 
I come back I'd stop a spell, and talk with the 
steward ; and when he heard me talkin' he must 
throw the grindstone and his hat overboard, give 
a shriek, and then run and stow himself in the 
locker. 

"When I come along back I stopped, and 
says to the steward, ' I don't know what will 
happen when those fellows come aboard to- 
morrow morning. will never be taken 

alive. He'll kill some of 'em, and kill himself : 
he threatened to do it in Australia.' 

"Just then we heard a great splash and a 
scream. 4 What's that?' says I. 

" £ It's ,' says the steward : 1 he's thrown 

himself overboard.' 

"Everybody heard it. The captain was off 
that day. I rushed aft, told the other officers, 
and ordered out the boats. The men felt terri- 
bly. Every one of 'em was fond of him. We 
got out four boats, and swept that harbor for 
hours. I was the last boat in. When I got 
aboard I found the second mate leanin' over the 
ship's side, cryin' bitterly. ' He's gone, poor 
fellow! here's his hat,' says he: 'the- men have 



22 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



just picked it up. We never shall see him 
again.' 

"There wasn't a wink of sleep on board 
that night. The next morning I put the flag 
at half-mast. Everybody was solemn as death. 

's wet hat lay on the hatchway. They 

all thought he was dead. 

' c The captain come off to see what was the 
matter. I told him the story, — how we heard 
the splash, got out the boats, and picked up 

's hat. Right in the midst of it the 

officers from Rodrigues come aboard to claim 
their man. We told 'em the story, and showed 
'em the wet hat. They never offered to search 
the vessel. They see how bad the men felt ; and 
they believed it all, and pulled off. 

"Late that afternoon we got our water all 
aboard, and bore away to sea. I waited till 
we was almost out o' sight o' land : then I says 
to the captain, c I guess I'll go below and get 
a cigar. ' I went, and hauled the step away ; 

and there was , all in a heap. I can see 

that fellow's face right before me now, white as 
chalk, eyes as black as night. He looked like 
a wild man. 

" 'What now ?' says he, trembling all over. 



AT SEA. 



23 



46 4 Come out of that,' says I. 

44 4 What do you mean ?' says he. 

44 'Don't stop to ask questions, man,' says I. 
4 Get out of that, and come up : you're safe for 
this time. Land is almost out of sight.' 

4 4 He crawled out, and we went on deck to- 
gether. 'Now,' says I, 4 go and shake hands 
with the captain.' 

44 1 went to the side of the ship, and stood 
there, smokin', and pretendin' to be scannin' 
the horizon. I see the captain give one look 

at ; a kind of scared look. He thought 

it was his ghost. Then he wrung 's hand, 

and burst out cry in' jest like a baby. Pretty 
soon he looked at me. I never said a word. 
4 Did that fellow have any thing to do with 
it ? ' says he." 



24 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



LAND HO! 

Tuesday, July 8. 

N the afternoon of our fourteenth day 
out, we hear the welcome cry, ' ' Land 
ho!" — « Can you see it? " " Where 
is it ? ' ' are the eager questions ; and ail who 
are able rush to the bows. 

We were twenty-five miles from Flores, the 
most westerly island of the Azores, bearing east- 
south-east. It looked like a low cloud-bank on 
the horizon. We felt a renewed admiration for 
Columbus : it was such a marvel to us, that, 
even with all the appliances of modern science 
to navigation, we could traverse the pathless 
deep, on the wings of the wind, and with un- 
erring aim strike this bit of blessed land in 
mid-ocean, hundreds of miles from everywhere. 

The outline of Flores grew more and more 
distinct, — a backbone of serrated peaks, sloping 
on all sides to the sea, and ending precipitously 




LAND HO! 



25 



in black and jagged cliffs, against which the 
surf beats ceaselessly. The full moon rose at 
midnight from behind the tallest peak, illumining 
the principal crater like a new eruption, and re- 
vealing the volcanic character of the island. 

Land will never again be so enchanting as the 
sight of those islands at daybreak. Such ex- 
quisite delight as it was to gaze once more upon 
houses, green fields, and waving grain, — to see 
the cloud-shadows chasing each other on the hill- 
tops, and down the deep ravines. 

Corvo, which is higher but much smaller than 
Flores, lies ten miles to the north of it. It is a 
single volcano, seldom visited, and uninhabited 
except by a small colony of Moorish descent. 
Its summit wrapped in a silvery mist, it lay in 
the morning light, far and still as a spirit-land. 

Though we were but twelve miles from shore, 
there was not breeze enough to take us in. The 
captain's boat was lowered ; and he rowed off, 
leaving us to tack in and out all day, between 
the two islands. As we were beating up behind 
Flores, far away from any sign of human hab- 
itation, we saw a thin column of smoke ascend- 
ing from a narrow ledge on one of the steepest 
declivities of the island. It grew to a flame. 



26 



A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



" Some poor fellow wants to come aboard," 
said the mate. 

To avoid the severity of the conscription 
laws, the young men of the Azores seek to 
escape from the islands on American vessels. 
They kindle a bonfire as a signal for a boat. 
They are taken on board without passports, and 
stow themselves away among the cargo, out of 
sight of the custom-house officers. Last year 
a thousand were carried off in this way. We 
asked our captain, later, if he ever took them. 
"Of course not," he said innocently; u but I 
noticed one singular thing on my last trip: I 
had passports for seventy steerage passengers, 
and I landed one hundred and sixteen in Amer- 
ica. It beat all, how they counted out so!" 

Late in the afternoon we made the port of 
Flores. Three or four lighters put out for the 
ship. These island boats are made for rough 
water, and are so big and heavy that they look 
like the dismantled hulks of small schooners. 
They are painted black or a dingy red. No 
two of their four oars ever touch the water to- 
gether ; and, as they crawl clumsily along in the 
distance, they look like huge water beetles strug- 
gling in the billows. 



LAND HO! 



27 



The oars are from fifteen to twenty feet long ; 
the handle consisting of two crooked boughs 
spliced together, so large round that they can- 
not be clasped by the hands, and turning on 
the gunwale by a broad semicircular piece of 
plank with a hole in it for the thole-pin. There 
are two men at each oar. 

As the boats drew near, the steerage passen- 
gers crowded to the ship's side. They were all 
in their "shore clothes," — the women resplen- 
dent in cheap striped shawls, bonnets loaded 
with artificial flowers, and veils which were to 
fill the hearts of their Flores friends with envy. 
Even the steerage baby, little Maria, whose gam- 
bols with Dennis the pig had been one of the 
amusements of our voyage, now cast off her 
soiled calico, and in a new gown of scarlet wool- 
len sat enthroned in her father's arms, waving a 
tiny blue parasol. 

As the oarsmen recognized old friends they 
became greatly excited. Clambering on board, 
they kissed and embraced, men and women indis- 
criminately, and such a jabbering I never heard. 

The custom-house officer, a booby in specta- 
cles, with a great deal of strut, planted himself 
on his haunches, dropped his head between his 



28 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



hands, and smoked until the hold was emptied. 
He nodded august permission as the noisy crowd 
poured into the boats, each bearing some cher- 
ished article of household furniture, — bedsteads, 
tin boilers, sewing-machines, stoves, lamps, and, 
dearer than all to the Portuguese soul, the Con- 
necticut clock. 

There was no one to welcome the poor old 
woman of eighty, who stood apart trembling 
with intense emotion. Her eyes sparkled like 
beads, and the tears rolled down her wrinkled 
cheeks. She had gone to America only the year 
before, to live with her son ; but, pining for her 
island home, was now sent back by the city of 
New Bedford to die. Eager to land, she tot- 
tered up to the steps again and again, when her 
heart would seem to fail her, and she was rudely 
jostled aside by the younger and more active. 
When at last she was lifted into the boat, and 
sat there cowering and crossing herself in abject 
fear, there was not a dry eye among us. 

Most of our passengers went ashore the next 
day. The steward, a Santa Maria man, con- 
soled me for my inability to do so. " You vant 
to see Flores ? I tell you it's the very vorsh 
place never you put your foots." We thought 



LAND HO! 



29 



its name was justified when our friends returned 
bringing long sprays of English ivy, rare ferns, 
and handfuls of lantana. 

In the afternoon an English captain paid us a 
visit. His bark, u The Miaco," was the first 
vessel that passed through the Suez Canal. He 
was hurrying home, after a three-years' cruise 
in Chinese and Japanese waters. He left us at 
the close of a glorious sunset. We were not 
anchored, but, in nautical phrase, "laying off 
and on." As the twilight deepened, the gulls 
flew about us, uttering their melancholy cries. 
Our lights went up at our bow. " The Miaco " 
weighed anchor. Her sails gleamed ghastly in 
the pallid light. Both ships ran up their flags, — 
brothers still, in spite of Revolution and seces- 
sion clays. " The Miaco" glided close to our 
quarter, and silently dropped astern of us, home- 
ward bound, and we — whither ? We felt senti- 
mental. 

Somebody said, " Let's sing ' God save the 
Queen ' to those fellows." Quick as thought, all 
ranged themselves in line along the ship's side, 
and began to sing u America," not meaning to 
let the words be heard, but intending to come out 
strong on the last line with " God save the 



30 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



Queen!" In their enthusiasm they forgot the 
nationality of their audience ; and I lay on my cot 
in convulsions of laughter, at hearing our loyal 
New-Englanders roaring out this salute to our 
British friends : — 

" Land of the Pilgrim's pride, — 
Sweet land of liberty, 
God save the Queen!" 

The Englishman, however, was equal to the 
occasion. He rallied his crew, and they gave 
us u Hip, hip, hip, hurrah! " three times three. 
We applauded. " Good-by " and " Good luck " 
were exchanged by our captains ; and like a great 
white bird ' 4 The Miaco ' ' sailed away into the 
darkness, and we parted, never to meet again 0 



FAYAL AND ITS PORT. 



31 



FAYAL AND ITS PORT. 

Saturday, July 12. 




ITH fair winds, the run between Flores 
and Fayal can be made in twenty-four 
hours. On one occasion a Boston bark 
was eight days becalmed between the two islands. 
Fortune favored us, however ; and thirty-six hours 
after leaving Flores we drifted slowly with the 
tide into the harbor of Horta, the chief town and 
seaport of Fayal. 

A general description will answer equally well 
for Fayal and for the other islands of the group. 
The outline of all, as we see them from the water, 
is a long ridge of conical hills, — I ought to say 
mountains, — each with a depression at the top. 
Long straggling villages of white houses on the 
slopes. The port, or harbor, a semicircular road- 
stead lying open to the sea, and exposed to all 
the fury of the winds, protected only by two bold 
promontories that make the horns of the crescent- 



32 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

shaped bay. Besides the protection afforded by 
its own headlands, Monte da Guia on the south- 
west, rising to the height of three hundred and 
forty feet, and Espalamaca, a still nobler eleva- 
tion at the north-east, the harbor of Horta is 
somewhat sheltered by the long island of San 
Jorge, lying to the north ; while opposite Fayal, 
and but four miles distant, the magnificent vol- 
cano of Pico lifts its broad shoulders as an effi- 
cient breakwater to the easterly gales. To the 
north of Monte da Guia stands Monte Queimada, 
a mountain of blackened slag, as its name im- 
plies. Its terraced summit is laid out in little 
patches of corn, grain, and vine land, of uniform 
size and shape, separated by tall hedges of cane. 

The city of Horta, with its little one-story 
houses, glaring white walls, and red tiled roofs, 
resembles the Swiss toy villages of our childhood. 
It lies along the shore ; its principal street follow- 
ing the curve of the sea-wall from Monte Queima- 
da to Espalamaca, the other horn of the crescent. 

After a visit from the healthy doctor, as the 
steward called the health-officer of the port, we 
were permitted to land. The landing-place is a 
small wharf, projecting from beneath the frown- 
ing ramparts of a fort. A motley crowd sur- 



FAYAL AND ITS PORT. 



33 



rounded us as we stepped upon the quay, — men 
and women barefooted, or clattering in wooden 
shoes. The men wore gay woollen caps like 
those of the Neapolitan fishermen ; the pointed 
top tasselled, and hanging over the side. Their 
shirts and trousers were of white linen, and over 
the right shoulder they hung their short jackets of 
dark woollen stuff. The women were bonnetless, 
hatless, with red, blue, or yellow cotton handker- 
chiefs tied over their heads. Some peeped out 
from the plackets of coarse linen petticoats thrown 
over head and shoulders. They wore white short- 
gowns, and very full petticoats of dark blue or red 
calico. Others were entirely enveloped in hooded 
cloaks of dark blue broadcloth. The hood, which 
is stiffened with whalebone and buckram to pre- 
serve its shape, might be taken for a miniature 
chaise-top, or the smoke- jack of a city chimney. 
The chief article in the trousseau of a well-to-do 
Fayalese bride is this capote. It costs from thirty 
to sixty dollars. The cloak part is a full circle, 
extending to the ankles. All that one sees of 
the wearer of this capote is the hands, and a pair 
of eyes glistening as it were at the bottom of a 
coal-hod. The wearer holds the two sides of the 
hood together in such a way as to hide her own 



34 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

face, while she gives herself ample opportunity 
to peer out at the Americanas. Nothing could 
be funnier than the side-view of two capotes gos- 
siping on the street. 

After a brief delay at the custom-house, where 
our bags were searched for " tabac" we pro- 
ceeded on foot to the English hotel, so called. A 
small sign, swinging over the sidewalk, directed 
us to the entrance of the "Hotel Fayal," which 
otherwise does not differ externally from the ordi- 
nary dwellings of the town. We found here 
good enough accommodation, — bare floors fre- 
quently washed, clean, hard beds, and a good 
variety of palatable food. As for service, much 
cannot be said. There is, however, no lack of 
willingness ; and a person in ordinary health may 
be very comfortable here. The Hotel Central, a 
Portuguese inn, is, I am told, equally well kept. 
Both are far superior to those of the other islands. 
The cost of living at either is a Spanish dollar 
($1.20) a day, with a trifle extra for wine. The 
English hotel has one advantage in its fine gar- 
den, where an invalid may swing in her hammock, 
surrounded by a sub- tropical vegetation. 

Like all the other gardens and estates of the 
islands, it is enclosed by walls of lava sixteen 



FAYAL AND ITS PORT. 



35 



feet high, and two feet and a half thick. Tall 
mimosa-trees shade the entrance, which is flanked 
by immense ferns, and ivies of all kinds grow 
over it. From the walls droop flowering vines : 
maurandia, trumpet- creeper, and Cherokee roses 
run riot here. The garden is laid out in broad 
avenues shaded by incenso- trees, the leaves of 
which are aromatic, and the nuts are burned as 
incense in the churches. Here are lemon and 
orange trees, bananas and figs, laden with fruit, 
— the latter already ripe. Hundreds of the white 
trumpets of the datura exhale their sickly odor, 
and caila lilies abound. There are far more beau- 
tiful gardens in Fayal than this one. In them I 
have seen growing the cork-oak and the cam- 
phor-tree, the date, the cocoanut and other palm- 
trees, bamboos, sugar-cane, the acanthus and the 
olive, the coffee-tree and the tea-plant, the rice- 
paper-plant, guavas, pineapples, pomegranates, 
magnolias, Spanish chestnuts, and the Norfolk- 
Island pine, with an endless variety of vines and 
flowers such as in New England we see only 
rarely in greenhouses. There are long hedges 
of camellias, which in early winter will be one 
mass of red and white blossoms ; the rarest roses ; 
three or four kinds of passion-flower, among 



36 



A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



them a pure white one with fringed petals ; the 
American agave ; ipomoeas, purple, yellow, and a 
beautiful white one that unfolds at night ; aca- 
cias that burst, as if by magic, into rosy bloom ; 
and allamandas, bougainvilleas, and stephanotis in 
profusion. At the Public Garden, — a pleasant 
place to sit a while, shaded by pittosporum-trees, 
— I saw Sof rano rose-trees ten feet high in full 
bloom. A Cherokee or Banksia rose, bearing 
hundreds of blossoms, covered one of the walls 
for the length of thirty feet. There, too, were 
althaeas, oleanders, and pelargoniums of immense 
size. Horta is well named the garden of Portu- 
gal. 

The houses of Horta, as of the other towns of 
the Azores, are built of igneous stone, covered 
with plaster, and whitewashed. Those of the 
smaller villages are but one story high. Though 
there are whole streets of one-story houses in 
Horta, in Angra, and in Ponta Delgada, the 
buildings of these three Azorean cities are usu- 
ally two stories high. Some have three ; and 
very often a faQade of small glazed tiles of 
white porcelain with arabesques or geometric fig- 
ures in blue, brown, green, or yellow. These 
glazed tiles are of Oriental origin, and are much 



FAYAL AND ITS PORT. 



37 



better suited for inner and outer walls in damp 
climates, than plaster or stucco. In the Portu- 
guese dominions they are an interesting relic of 
the Moslem occupation of the Spanish peninsula. 
Mr. Irving speaks of them in the Alhambra, and 
says, 6 4 Some are still to be seen among the 
Moorish ruins, which have been there upwards of 
eight centuries." When the Spaniards invaded 
the Netherlands, the tiles went with them, and 
their cleanliness made them acceptable to the 
Dutch. In old colonial days, our forefathers 
brought them to New England, where we know 
them as Dutch tiles ; but they are Dutch only by 
adoption. They are still manufactured- in the 
Spanish peninsula. Those in use in the Western 
Islands, are mostly made in Oporto. 

The houses are built in continuous blocks close 
up to the sidewalk, the lower floor being on a 
level with it. Either because living in the lower 
stories would be disagreeable from this circum- 
stance, or on account of the dampness, they are 
given up to shops, or used only as a sort of inner 
court-yard from which entrance to the living- 
rooms is made. This court-yard, or sagao as it 
is named, is paved in patterns with gray and 
white pebbles, and has a base-board or dado of 



38 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



bright- colored tiles. A long wooden staircase 
leads from the sagao to the dwelling-house 
proper, Usually a bell-rope hangs beside the 
door on the landing ; though sometimes one gains 
admittance by the vigorous use of one's knuckles, 
or by the more primitive Oriental custom of clap- 
ping one's hands. Our landlady often summons 
her servant in the latter way, accompanied with 
a " Ho, Jose ! " which takes one back to the Ara- 
bian Nights. 

The outer door of the sagao is double, and 
stands always open. The clumsy hinges and 
quaint iron latch, lock, and knocker would delight 
an antiquary. There is no glass in the lower 
story. The shops have no windows : those of 
the sagao are barred with iron gratings like jail 
windows. The lintels and casements are of hewn 
stone, painted green, blue, or yellow, like the 
doors. 

Between the two stories, a course of hewn 
stone projects about a foot and a half from the 
wall, forming balconies upon which the long win- 
dows of the second story open. They are sur- 
rounded by high wooden balustrades, painted to 
match the other trimmings of the house. Oftener 
they are of lattice-work of elaborate patterns, 



FAYAL AND ITS POET. 



39 



with half a dozen little trap-doors in the front, 
lifting outward. Reclining indolently on the bal- 
cony floors, the women peer out curiously from 
the trap-doors at the passers-by. 

There are but few chimneys, fires being seldom 
needed or used except for culinary purposes. 
The roofs are covered with half-cylindrical red 
pottery tiles, laid in rows, overlapping end to end 
from ridge-pole to eaves, to which they give a 
scalloped edge. The seams made by their adja- 
cent edges are protected by rows of inverted tiles. 

Almost every other shop-door discloses a shoe- 
maker's bench with half a dozen men pegging 
away at their work ; which is the more surprising, 
as everybody goes barefoot. The shops are 
open on Sundays. 

The architecture of the churches is Moorish, — 
a pretentious facade three or four stories high, 
flanked by square towers surmounted by Sar- 
acenic domes. The interior is bare and tawdry, — 
thin, gaudy coloring, and poor gilding about the 
walls and altars ; plaster images adorned with 
tinsel gewgaws ; and shrines decorated with poor 
tapestries, imitation laces, and great bows made 
of cheap American neck- ties. 

The floor on Sundays looks like a gay flower- 



40 , A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



garden with its kneeling crowd in their bright 
blue, orange, and red kerchiefs. 

Rockets sent up from the church-steps form a 
part of the Sunday pageant ; and the jo3 T ous peal- 
ing of the bells is often heard on the week-days 
as well. 

One very old church has some handsome orna- 
mentation in stone on the facade, and beautiful 
cloisters surrounding an overgrown court-yard, 
in the midst of which is a picturesque well. One 
or two recluses still linger in the convent attached 
to this church. _ 

The convents of the islands were suppressed 
in 1834, and converted into barracks or hospitals. 
The Carmo, or Carmelite Church, occupies a lofty 
hill ; and behind it is the cemetery. There is no 
appearance of graves, and no stones or monu- 
ments. Each lot is hedged about with tail box, 
and covered with flowers. Here and there a sim- 
ple marble slab, bearing a sweet English name, 
marks the last resting-place of some delicate 
girl, who, fleeing hither for life, found only death 
in this fair clime. 

The outskirts of Horta are attractive. Fla- 
mengos, a straggling village originally settled 
by Flemings, lies along the bed of a torrent, 



FAYAL AND ITS PORT. 



41 



which is spanned by the picturesque arches of 
an old stone bridge. 

One sees here and there a child whose fair 
hair and blue eyes show its direct descent from 
the first families of the place. Road and river 
wind in and out among the high hills, whose 
steep slopes are cultivated to the very top. Some 
one said of this village, that its fields were set 
up on end, and cultivated on both sides. 

Porto Pirn is an adjunct of the main harbor, 
lying behind Monte da Guia and Monte Quei- 
mada, whose bases are connected by a high 
sandy beach. The opening between these two 
peaks makes a superb setting for the volcano 
beyond. It is prettiest at early dawn of a sum- 
mer's morning. Then the old Spanish fort and 
the windmill beyond are most picturesque. The 
mountains are in shadow ; the rocks /that guard 
the entrance to the harbor, black and jagged ; the 
water, still and silvery blue. 

The homeward-bound fishermen scarce dip their 
oars : the boats drift in noiselessly on the soft- 
lapping tide, with the sleepy air of creatures that 
soar in search of prey by night, but harmless 
fold their wings by day. Dripping nets, stretched 
on the bleaching timbers of stranded wrecks, 



42 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



glisten in the sunshine. Tents are pitched along 
the shore for the bathers. Naked children gather 
shells on the beach : two or three are pulling out 
to the point in an old tub, and their wet backs 
glow crimson in the morning light. Fishermen 
saunter up from their boats with queer baskets 
of brilliant, red fish. Women cross the beach 
from beyond Monte da Guia, with bundles of 
cane on their heads, and full water-buckets atop, 
with sprays of green floating on the surface to 
prevent spilling. 

During the summer of 1862 slight oscillations 
of the earth were frequent on this island. One 
hundred and twenty shocks occurred within ten 
days. They were not violent, but distressing to 
the inhabitants, most of whom left their houses, 
and betook themselves to tents. They lived in 
momentary expectation of an eruption, not know- 
ing where or when it might burst forth. A part 
of the consul's family, who were at Porto Pirn, 
feared it might issue from Monte Queimada, the 
burnt mountain between them and the town, 
where the rest of their friends were. To their 
great relief the shocks finally subsided, the dis- 
turbance probably culminating in a submarine 
explosion. Vessels coming in from sea reported 



FAYAL AND ITS POET. 43 

strange noises, and for days the ocean was cov- 
ered with a wonderful phosphorescence. The 
people on the western slopes of the island, be- 
lieving the sea to be on fire, and the end of the 
world at hand, got out their images of the saints, 
and chanted and prayed, night and day on the 
cliffs. 



44 



A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



STREET-SCENES IN HORTA. 

SHE streets of Fayal, like those of the 



other islands, are very narrow, and 



llSiSli paved with oblong blocks of stone. 
Little or no soil accumulates upon the pavement, 
and they are quite clean. Now and then, a small 
boy appears with a short pick, and a broom of 
fresh box-twigs ; and, digging out the weeds that 
spring up between the stones, he carries them 
off in a basket. 

The main streets have sidewalks, often not 
wide enough for two to walk abreast, and but 
slightly raised above the street. The side streets 
have only a row of wider stones in the middle 
of the road for foot-passengers. They are named 
for the eminent men of the town, for Jesus, 
the Virgin, and the Saints, and for events in the 
lives of each. Thus there are the Rua de Con- 
sul Dabney, de Conde de Santa Anna, the Rua 
de Jesus, de San Pedro, and the streets of the 
Conception, the Crucifixion, and the Compassion. 




STREET-SCENES IN II0I1TA. 



45 



Their names are in blue letters on white tiles at 
the corners. 

Shade-trees and grass-plats are impossible in 
these narrow streets. The Alameda Gloria, a 
wide, short street which elsewhere would be called 
a place, is the only one bordered by trees. The 
glare of the white walls is painful ; and gentle- 
men, as well as ladies, carry sun-umbrellas. 

One finds entertainment enough in the ever- 
shifting scenes of the streets. Early in the 
morning the tide of travel begins to surge. The 
Pico boats, with their picturesque lateen sails, 
come in bringing the market people and their 
produce. Men and women are carried ashore 
through the surf, on the shoulders of the bare- 
legged boatmen, and come swarming up through 
the water-gates into the Rua de San Francisco. 
All their burdens are carried on their heads : 
men in rude sandals of cowhide, with the hair 
left on, balancing great baskets of wood for the 
baker, and their hands full beside ; others with 
the same commodity bound about with an iron 

* p, like an overgrown cart-wheel, steadying it 
nth one hand only. 

There is a Fayal man, with his basket of 
cucumbers carefully covered with ferns, on the 



46 



A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



back of his neck, supported by a pole over his 
rioht shoulder. Women with Sarins; black bas- 
kets piled high above their heads with red and 
yellow apricots ; or, perhaps, with fluffy white 
ducks whose broad yellow bills rest on the rim ; 
others running easily under the weight of im- 
mense melon-shaped squashes, carefully poised 
upon their heads, atop of which in a cabbage- 
leaf is a pat of fresh butter. 

There is one in full costume. Her bare feet 
and ankles are ill concealed by the short full 
petticoat, which is of gamboge-color, with a 
Roman stripe for the border. From beneath 
her white short-gown hangs her gay patchwork 
pocket, betokening by its shape and arrangement 
the village to which she belongs. A red hand- 
kerchief is loosely twisted about her throat. Her 
square- topped, broad- brimmed straw hat half 
hides her shiny black braids and handsome face. 
Its narrow *red worsted band, knotted at intervals 
with little bits of cotton batting, does not hold it 
firmly on her head : so she picks up a stone, and, 
placing it on top of the crown, runs on quite 
unconscious of the smile of the Americanas in 
the balcony above. 

The farmer comes in from the country with his 



STREET-SCENES IN HORTA. 47 



cart drawn by an ox and a cow yoked together. 
It is made from one piece of wood, with a wicker 
body. Its solid wheels and heavy axle slowly 
revolve together with a terrific creak, dear to the 
heart of the Fayalese peasant. There was for- 
merly a law that the axles must be soaped before 
entering the city. A revolution occurring as to 
the basis of taxation, 1 some Azorean Danton 
demanded redress of grievances. " Down with 
the income tax," he cried: "give us tithes!" 
" Tithes," echoed the mob, u and liberty to 
squeak our carts through the streets ! ' ' The 
wicker cart of the Azores is like the Roman 
plaustrum with its tympana or solid orbed wheels, 
to which Virgil often alludes, and to which he 
constantly applies the adjectives gementia and 
stridentia. 

Yonder is a group of women at a well. Their 
tall wooden buckets, shaped like old-fashioned 
wooden churns and holding six or seven gallons, 
stand on the stone curb. How skilfully each in 
turn throws down and dips the pail ! and with 
what assurance of strength, hand over hand, with 
long reaches, they draw it up dripping from the 

1 The Azorean is now taxed a certain per cent on bis actual 
income. 



48 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

fern-clad well ! Then, rolling up a little pad for 
it to rest upon, each, with another's help, lifts 
the heavy bucket to her head. How the last one 
is to manage, becomes a problem. Two already 
laden dexterously raise it, not a drop spilled 
from their own the while ; and away they all trot 
at a swinging gait up the street, chattering like 
rooks, enviable health in every motion, grace in 
every pose. Not even a hand is raised to steady 
their burdens. Milk-boys pass bearing crooked 
poles across their shoulders, from which depend 
their wooden measures and pottery jars ; soldiers 
from the garrison, with pinched and padded 
waists, and jaunty little caps set on the back of 
their heads ; and donkeys so enveloped in their 
burdens that only the tips of their noses and tails 
are visible. Sometimes a whole platoon of them 
goes by, each pair carrying a hogshead swinging 
from beams whose ends rest on their backs. 

Muffled drums and subdued cornets frequently 
announce the passing of a procession. Brocade 
canopies, priests in scarlet stoles, silver cruci- 
fixes, uniformed candle-bearers, altar-boys swing- 
ing censers, and the " Dead March," all add to 
the scenic effect. At the passing of the host, 
all the people in the street uncover their heads 



STREET-SCENES IN HORTA. 49 



and drop on their knees. A little boy, who for- 
gets to do this, is roughly handled by the priests. 
All are impressed. Capotes, overcome with emo- 
tion, kiss each other's hands. 

At night the streets are dark and still. A 
bugle-blast every now and then from the fort, the 
dashing of the waves against the sea-wall, and 
the twanging of the viola, are the only sounds 
one hears. 



50 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



DONKEYS. 

j]HEN one tires of the street-scenes of 
the city, let him mount a donkey, and 
go out into the country a mile or two. 
One may ride two hours for a serilha (twenty- 
four cents). The invalid should not ride too far 
at first, as it is apt to give one a pain in the 
side. One soon becomes accustomed to the mo- 
tion, however ; and then nothing is more com- 
fortable, more delightful, or more healthful, than 
an amble of eight or ten miles on a donkey's 
back. 

The rider has no responsibility of the animal. 
A clumsy pack-saddle almost envelops the docile 
little beast ; and above this is the awdilhas, a 
wooden frame like a short-legged saw-horse. 
Between the X-shaped ends of the andilhas, the 
rider sits on the right side of the animal, with- 
out even holding the bridle, which is a mere 
ornamental appendage. The donkey is always 
attended by a driver, who keeps him up to his 



DONKEYS. 



51 



gait with incessant screams of u Passa caya!" 
and a sharp goad if necessary. If he goes too 
fast, or caution is required, the driver seizes the 
donkey's tail, holding him back with all his 
might. It is astonishing how soon the rider 
learns to trust to this novel brake, even on the 
most dangerous paths. The donkey is the chief 
means of conveyance in the Azores. It is cer- 
tainly the best and the cheapest. There are a 
few carriages in Horta, which ma}? be hired at 
moderate rates ; but they are not comfortable. 
They have two poles, and are drawn by three 
11 uiles guided by three reins. 

The Portuguese cocker is a very coclion in 
intelligence and obstinacy. No one could be 
more ignorant of his profession, or more timid 
in its practice. He merely sits on his box, puff- 
ing his cigarette in your face unless forbidden, 
and, lashing his mules into a dead run, drives 
down the steepest hills at a break-neck pace that 
an American hack-driver would not take for love 
or money. His only resource in an emergency 
is to smoke, and scream, and swear, and abuse 
his poor beasts. 

Riding into the country one morning, the 
road grew suddenly narrower, and our stupid 



52 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



coachman drove our left fore- wheel against the 
stone wall which bounded the lane on both sides. 
Panic-stricken, he jumped off the box, and threw 
up his arms, shrieking in Portuguese, "It is 
too narrow ! ' ' The road was wide enough for 
a coach and six, and we shouted, " Ancle! " (Go 
on !) Pointing backwards, he began to jerk the 
mules' heads, nearly overturning us by cramping 
the wheels the wrong way. We threatened and 
coaxed, and at last, having exhausted the Eng- 
lish tongue and pantomime, in vain efforts to 
make him go ahead, we dismounted, and stood 
in a neighboring field to see the fun. 

Pale with fear, he alternately ran behind the 
carriage, exerting all his strength only to lift it 
a few inches in the wrong direction, and then 
leaped upon his box, to follow up his advantage 
by backing in the same way. The result not 
being satisfactory, down he jumped again to 
twitch at the bits, and beat the heads of the 
poor mules. But even the stupid jackasses knew 
him for a stupider, and bit at him. Turning to 
us, he held up two fingers, and then three, signi- 
fying at the same time that if there were but 
two jackasses he could do it, but with three it 
was ' 6 nao possiveL ' 9 With severe satire we in- 



DONKEYS. 



53 



formed him that we were quite of his opinion 
that there was one donkey too many, though 
probably not unanimous as to his position in 
the carriage. Finally, goaded on by my com- 
panions, I mounted the box, and seized the 
reins, with the intention of driving through the 
lane, when he threw himself in front of the ani- 
mals, screaming frantically, " Nao, senhora! 
nod 1 99 Having no ambition to attain the dis- 
tinction of a Tullia, by driving over his dead 
body, I yielded, thus fairly shaming him into 
one more reckless attempt to turn round, which 
accidentally proved successful. I shall never 
cease to regret, however, that, for the benefit 
of future tourists, I did not carry out my pur- 
pose, and leave him to get back to town as best 
he could. 

The country roads are excellent in themselves 
and charming in their surroundings. One finds 
there a primitive pastoral life, quaint and pic- 
turesque enough to delight the ennuye and fill 
the artist with enthusiasm. 



54 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



PEASANT LIFE IN PAYAL. 

NE accustomed to our time and labor 
saving machinery, looks with wonder 
and interest upon the simple industrial 
methods of the Azores. Sawhorses and our 
common wood-saw are unknown. Here and 
there we pass two men by the roadside, lazily 
pushing back and forth a peculiar saw, fitted 
into a clumsy wooden frame. There is neither 
wheelbarrow, spade, nor shovel on the islands. 
Boys at work on the breakwater, with coarse 
bags thrown over head and shoulders in place of 
hats, carry the dirt in baskets on their heads. A 
short-handled, square hoe has to serve the pur- 
pose of the spade, the use of the latter being in- 
compatible with the bare feet of the men ; though 
their soles are so calloused that they often scratch 
matches on them in lighting their cigarettes. 

What farming was in the time of David and 
the prophets, of Homer and of Virgil, that it is 
to-day in the Western Islands. The yoke, the 




PEASANT LIFE IN FAYAL. 



55 



cart, the plough, the harrow, the threshing-floor, 
the threshing and the winnowing, are precisely 
like those described in the Old Testament, the 
Odyssey, and more minutely in the Georgics. 
The grain is cut with a sickle, and the sheaves 
bound by men, women, and children, as in the 
days of Ruth and Boaz. 

Near the hut of the well-to-do peasant is a 
hard- trodden, circular floor of pumice, fifteen to 
twenty feet in diameter, surrounded by a low 
rim of weather-beaten stones. This is the eira* 
or threshing-floor. Over the unbound sheaves, 
as they lie on the floor, cattle are driven attached 
to a wooden drag, whose lower surface is studded 
with iron spikes and sharp bits of lava. A long 
rope from the right horn of the off ox, is held in 
the driver's hand. 

I saw a barefooted girl of thirteen driving one 
pair of cattle : her little brother of seven sat on 
the drag, and drove a second pair, and their 
father the third. Two men turned over the 
straw with wooden pitchforks made of a single 
piece of wood, cleft into three tines at one end. 

How five people and six cattle (which, by the 
way, were one yoke of oxen, one of a cow and 

1 Latin, area. 



56 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

an ox, and one of young and lively, black bull- 
ocks), with little children for drivers, and three 
clumsy, cruel drags, could gyrate on this limited 
space, even if they had all gone in the same 
direction, without drags crushing bare feet, and 
cattle crushing drags, and pitchforks goring cat- 
tle, and cattle goring children, was more than I 
could make out. Add to this the fact that no two 
teams go in the same direction at the same time, 
but that each driver, watching his chance, cuts 
in and out, across and around, reversing the 
direction by no rule, but by quick perception of 
the others' movements, and it is the most won- 
derful and the most interesting thing imaginable. 

After the threshing, the straw was raked off 
with cumbrous wooden rakes, the grain swept up 
into a windrow, a flag raised to show the direc- 
tion of the wind, and men with wooden shovels 
tossed up the wheat into the air, against the wind, 
to winnow it. The whole scene was truly Orient- 
al and picturesque. 

The corn-mill of Fayal is like the mola asina- 
ria of the Romans. The lower story of some of 
the houses is used as a mill. A cow is harnessed 
to a crank, as the horse is in a New-England 
cider-mill. Her eyes are covered with tunnel- 



PEASANT LIFE IN FAYAL. 



57 



shaped, tin blinders ; and she travels in a circle, 
turning one stone upon another, and grinding a 
bushel of corn in an hour. There are a few 
windmills of rude construction, but the cow- 
mill and the scriptural hand-mill are the common 
methods of grinding the corn. 

" Paciencia ! 5 cries the Portuguese often to 
us brisk Yankees ; and one must cultivate that 
virtue to be happy in the Azores. 

Near the eira is usually an arched stone 
building, from eight to fifteen feet long, and four 
or five feet high, plastered and whitewashed like 
the rest. Within this is the cistern. Spouts 
lead from the tiled roofs into the eira, and others 
from the eira into the cistern ; and thus the rain- 
water used for drinking and washing purposes 
is collected and stored. Often close by the cis- 
tern are washtubs hewn out of great igneous 
rocks, shallow at the front, and sloping deeper 
at the back to serve the purpose of a washing- 
board. The washing is always done in the open 
air. 

The farther one gets into the country, the more 
novel the scenes, — the wayside shrine, with ever 
fresh flowers in memory of one who fell dead on 
the spot full fourteen years agone ; the cow teth- 



58 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



ered in the field, with a heart-shaped amulet of 
red woollen bound about her forehead, to ward 
off the 4 c evil eye ; ' ' the stone huts of the peas- 
ants swarming with handsome children ; the high- 
pitched thatched roofs, and the little door-yards 
bright and fragrant with saffron and berga- 
mot. There are pictures everywhere, Murillos or 
Millets to one's taste ; Madonnas on every door- 
step ; nut-brown maids "winding off their soft 
woolly task with the spindles ; ' ' beautiful child- 
faces half-shyly peering from the square hole 
that serves for a window in the peak of the roof ; 
groups of half-naked boys playing cards on the 
walls. 

The interiors are bare and poor : one room, 
rafters visible above ; a floor of earth ; 4 £ woven 
work of willow-boughs" sometimes partitioning 
off one end of the room as a bedroom ; a loft 
above it reached by a ladder, and on the floor a 
pallet of straw. 

There is neither chimney nor stove. The fire- 
place is without crane or andirons, and is merely 
a broad stone shelf built out from the wall, and 
on this a fire of furze and fagots. The blinding 
smoke escapes as best it may through roof and 
open door. For cooking utensils, there are an 



PEASANT LIFE IN FAYAL. 



59 



iron pot and trivets, and one or two red pottery 
jars and saucers. 

Meat is a rare article of food with the peasant. 
Coarse corn-cake, baked on a trivet over the coals, 
hard, sour, heavy, and smoky, — this with a bit 
of cheese, fish, or a pepper, and a cup of cold 
water, is his principal food. 

There is little furniture in the room, — a bed, 
so high as almost to require steps to get into it, 
with a bright worsted coverlet of domestic manu- 
facture, like those of our colonial grandmothers ; 
a table ; a hand-loom in one corner ; and a few 
scriptural prints on the walls. In some cottages 
one finds the same modification of the old Roman 
lamp, used by our forefathers in New England, — 
a small triangular pan to hold grease, and a float- 
ing wick. There are one or two chairs : these, 
however, are seldom used by the women, who 
squat upon the floor, and sew or spin, and card 
their flax and wool. 

Most of the clothing and household stuffs are 
spun and woven by the women, who also perform 
much field labor, weave baskets, braid hats, knit 
and embroider beautifully, and make exquisite 
laces from the split fibre of the aloe. Both sexes 
are poorly paid for their labor. Men's wages in 



60 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

t 

Horta range from twenty-four to forty-eight cents 
a clay. The best dressmakers get twelve cents. 
The Pico women go up to the clouds on the 
mountain, and milk, for eight cents. Those of 
Horta carry water from the public wells for two 
cents a bucket. The old spinner who sat for our 
artist earned but two cents a day, and spun by 
moonlight, not being able to afford a lamp. 

The spinning is done with a distaff, held be- 
tween the left arm and side. The thread is 
wound off the spindle on a sort of swifts, 
twisted deftly with the left hand. Flax is much 
grown on the islands, and takes the place that 
cotton does with us. Gentlemen's summer-suits 
are of snowy white linen. The coarser and un- 
bleached kinds are w T orn by the peasant. The 
clean clothes of the field-laborer in Fayal are a 
noticeable contrast to those of our farm-hands. 
Woollen fabrics are also woven, — black, brown, 
and mixed cloths of the consistency of felting. 

The men wear short jackets of these cloths, that 
look like the curtailed remains of dress-coats. 
They are very short on the shoulder, with broad 
lapels in front, and innumerable seams in the back. 

Boys dress like their fathers. Girls under 
twelve are clad in a linen sack and petticoat, with 



PEASANT LIFE IN FAYAL. 



61 



no other apparel. Little children of both sexes 
run about the streets in their scanty shirts. Ba- 
bies go naked, and are much less attractive than 
babyhood in general. Their limbs are puny : they 
are never swaddled, and are often bow-legged. 

In the people there is much to admire as well 
as to condemn. They are sensitive, jealous, cred- 
ulous, and superstitious. They are lacking in 
courage. They quarrel and make up with the 
inconsistency of children, and are as impulsive, 
unreasonable, and irresponsible. They weep as 
easily as they laugh. While they are hardly to 
be called gay, they are happy and contented to a 
degree that makes them improvident and indo- 
lent, and indifferent if not absolutely hostile, to 
better modes of life. They marry young, and 
within forbidden degrees of kinship. Girls of 
thirteen marry their own uncles of twice their 
age. They are temperate and industrious, kind, 
polite, and helpful to strangers and to each other. 
Our donkey-men address each other and their 
acquaintance as Senhor and Senhora. The child 
kisses her hand in taking your proffered penny. 
Our stable-bills are made out, and our business 
papers addressed, to the " Illustrissima Excellen- 
tissima Senhora." 



62 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



Different members of the same family are 
known by such a variety of names, that it is dif- 
ficult to identify them as of one household. The 
wife sometimes takes her husband's name : quite 
as often she does not. The oldest son appro- 
priates some of the father's ancestral names ; 
the second son, some of the mother's ; neither 
assuming his father's family name. The pat- 
ronymic seems to be of little consequence. The 
personal name is the one to which importance 
is attached. Inquiring in a shop for the resi- 
dence of the consul's brother-in-law, we got no 
satisfaction till it dawned upon the proprietor 
that we were in search of the Rua de Senhor 
Jorge. A mother gave us her child's name as 
Filomena das Angelos. Marias and Pias abound. 
In the post-office the letters are sorted according 
to the baptismal name, — a bundle of Antonios, 
another of Manuels, etc. 

Now and then a trace of Orientalism appears. 
The women of the better class are seldom seen in 
the streets alone. " Would to Allah I might go 
home to my mistress!" sighed a tired model, 
posing for our artist. 

They are very fond of music and dancing. 
The viola, an instrument peculiar to the Azores, 



PEASANT LIFE IN FAYAL. 



63 



resembles the guitar and the mandolin, and dif- 
fers from both. In shape and size it is like the 
former. Its music is delicate, and unlike that of 
any other instrument. It is used as an accom- 
paniment in all their singing and dancing. The 
favorite dance of Fayal is the Chama Rita. It 
maybe danced by four, eight, or sixteen. The 
player begins it by twanging all the strings of 
his viola together. The self-elected leader of the 
dance, hopping about in the middle of the room, 
accompanies the viola at the top of his voice in a 
monotonous recitative, in which the words "Chama 
Rita" and "Bella Mia" are of frequent recur- 
rence. One by one the others fall in, walking 
slowly round each other back to back with a little 
joyous skip now and then, and snapping their 
fingers in the air to mark the time, as if with 
castanets. The dance consists of a polka step, 
with balancing to partners, and alternately to the 
rest, with frequent grand right and left, and 
ladies' chain. Occasionally they pair off for a 
little waltz. There seems to be no regular se- 
quence for the changes of the dance. Succes- 
sively, as the spirit moves them, the dancers, 
male and female, take up the recitative. So the 
racket goes on, the shouting of the song, the 



64 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



twanging of the viola, and the snapping of 
the fingers, until apparently fatigued they pause. 
Each gentleman then asks his partner whom she 
will have to dance with next. She signifies her 
wish to continue with him, or, if she prefers 
another, the first solicits the chosen one to take 
his place, and the dance is renewed. 

On these and all occasions the stranger is 
welcomed to the humble home of the Azorean 
peasant with dignity and decorum, and at the 
same time with a courtesy, cordiality, and frank 
hospitality, which are the truest politeness. One 
is struck, however, with the superiority of the 
Fayalese in manners and morals to the peasantry 
of the other islands, — a fact due to the excellent 
influence of the consul and his family. 

The language of the people is Portuguese. It 
is interesting to trace the kinship between the 
tongues of South-western Europe. The Romans 
invaded and vanquished the language, as well as 
the territory, of their neighbors so thoroughly, 
that a bastard Latin is the speech of all French, 
Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese possessions to- 
day. All the Portuguese nouns are Latin abla- 
tives ; and one may usually guess at the adjective 
by substituting an r for an I in the Latin (the ex- 



PEASANT LIFE IN FAYAL. 



65 



change of one liquid for another being apparently 
no robbery), — for instance, branca for blanca; 
obrigato for obligate), etc. They chatter like 
magpies ; and when we catch a Latin word, we 
seize and fling it back to them. They are mys- 
tified ; then they shout with delight, the " sen- 
hora sabe Portuguese," We don't let them know 
we don't sabe for awhile. Then, regardless of 
moods and tenses, and other grammatical trifles, 
we patch up a mongrel sentence out of our little 
Latin, Italian, and French. In nine cases out of 
ten, they understand and answer, so that we get 
the substance of what they say. Thus, by sheer 
audacity we really get a good deal out of the 
language. 



66 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



THE CALDEIRA. 

Tuesday, Aug. 6. 

O one should miss seeing the Caldeira, 
the crater, par excellence, of Fayal. It 
is reached by a gradual ascent of nine 
miles from Horta, which is easily made on a don- 
key or in a hammock. The hammock, fastened 
at either end to a long bamboo pole, is thus borne 
on the shoulders of two men. We were wakened 
at four in the morning by our escort, who chat- 
tered and smoked incessantly, while waiting for 
us to breakfast. They carry small bags of tobac- 
co in their pockets, with innumerable little squares 
of corn-husks. The latter they wet with the lips, 
and roll up the tobacco in them into cigarettes as 
they need them. 

We were a queer cavalcade, — three ladies half 
reclining in hammocks ; two men to each ham- 
mock, and a third running alongside as a relay ; 
two donkey-riders followed by their drivers ; and 




THE CALDEIRA. 



67 



at the head of the troop a little man, with a big 
basket on his head, containing our luncheon. 
Our bearers ran briskly ; and we soon reached 
the nearer hills, turning off from the paved high- 
way between two walls into a narrow donkey-path 
through the open pastures. 

As we began the ascent, the men reversed the 
hammocks, so that we rode backwards, thus com- 
manding fine views of the town, the harbor, and 
Pico. For the first half-hour, I thought I had 
never experienced so luxurious a method of loco- 
motion. Then gradually numbness began to creep 
over my extremities, and finally over every part 
of me. Sharp, nervous pains followed ; and my 
distress culminated in sea-sickness, which com- 
pelled me to order the men to halt. I proceeded 
the rest of the way, alternately walking, and rid- 
ing a donkey. 

The path grew rougher, finally disappearing 
entirely ; and we groped our way at the bottom 
of deep and narrow ravines that seemed like old 
water-courses. Our sure-footed little donkeys 
acquitted themselves nobly. Nothing could equal 
their patience, their persistence, their endurance. 
Pausing now and then to survey the situation, 
they would gather their slender legs into the 



68 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



smallest possible compass, and mince along on a 
ridge of crumbling clay, so narrow that there 
was nothing to be seen of it on either side. 
Then, sliding cautiously down into the gully, they 
picked their way carefully over rolling stones, 
and crawled over slippery rocks, with an almost 
two-footed intelligence. 

The men were always ready to help each other, 
and, without waiting to be called, ran and put 
their shoulders under the palanquin-poles with 
eager willingness. The little fellow who carried 
our heavy dinner-basket trudged bravely on. The 
muscles of his neck and chest stood out under its 
weight like ropes. All breathed painfully, and 
would have drawn painfully upon our sympathies, 
if we had not seen that they kept up a loud 
and rapid conversation all the way up the steep 
ravine. 

For miles our path was hedged in by the blue 
hydrangea, — a plant not indigenous, but thor- 
oughly naturalized here. Seen from a distance, 
it seems to lie in masses like a soft blue mist on 
the slopes of the hills ; but on a nearer view it is 
found to be planted as a division between the 
lands. Each plant is immense, and bears hun- 
dreds of large trusses of sky-blue flowers. The 



THE CALDEIRA. 



69 



pastures were pink with genuine Scotch heather, 
contrasting well with the vivid green of the tree 
heath. Box, similar to that cultivated for bor- 
ders in old colonial da} T s, grew to tall trees 
shaped like the Lombardy poplar. Beautiful 
composite flowers nodded from the sides of the 
ravines, which were covered with masses of the 
native ivy resembling our English ivy. 

Up, up, steadily up, three thousand three hun- 
dred and thirty-five feet above the sea-level to 
the brink of the Caldeira. It was free from 
clouds, and an awe-inspiring spectacle, — a circu- 
lar abyss with precipitous sides covered with 
heath and Fa} T a ; 1 eighteen hundred feet to the 
bottom, which is a vast arena, containing a hill 
with its crater, and a large pond. Patches of 
bluish green, fringed with yellow, were dotted 
here and there, and slight elevations of irregular 
blocks of lava. What we later found to be men 
cutting rushes, and sheep feeding on the bottom, 
looked like moving pin-heads. 

Pitching our tents just inside the rim of the 
great basin, we lay down to rest. The men dis- 
posed themselves to sleep, tethering the jacks on 

1 Fay a, a tree that gives its name to the island of 
Fayal. Latin, Fagus. 



70 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



the top where they got the full force of the wind. 
The Portuguese is not merciful to his beast. He 
drives his animals with a goad as large as a broom- 
stick, armed with a sharp steel point. He takes 
excellent care of himself, however, never resting 
without putting on additional clothing. Our gen- 
tlemen set out with a guide for a ride round the 
rim of the crater, a distance of more than five 
miles. We watched them for over two hours, 
crawling like great black ants along the edge. 
They said it was like riding on the ridge-pole of 
a house. 

Just after noon we noticed an unusual activity 
among the mites at the bottom, and by the aid of 
a powerful glass discovered that they were bind- 
ing their sheaves, and, finally packing them on 
their heads, were actually beginning the ascent. 
This made us think it could not be as bad as 
it looked, and notwithstanding the " 0 caminho 
nao esta bom " (the road no good) of the donkey- 
men, we determined to try it. The sight of a 
little money tempted two of the guides, and the 
two gentlemen and I set out for the bottom. 
Striking into a sheep-path, we went rapidly at 
first ; but soon it turned upon itself in angles so 
sharp and steep that we could not trace it six feet 



THE CALDEIRA. 



71 



ahead. To make the eighteen hundred feet, one 
must walk at least three times the distance, 
Taking the guide's hand, with a pole in the other, 
I leaped down with long jumps. This was very 
exhausting, and my knees trembled violently. 
Again and again we assured each other that we 
were half way down, when a glance at the placid 
sheep below showed us our mistake. At last 
G — — exclaimed that he could see the sheep's 
legs, and then their shadows, and we saw that we 
were really progressing. 

As we drew nearer the bottom, on steps so 
narrow that we could only place one foot at a 
time, we had met the patient toilers of the Cal- 
deira, gray-headed men, and boys of fourteen, 
with their heavy burdens on their heads, stag- 
gering painfully up the awful heights. These 
rushes are braided into matting, and into ropes 
for the cattle. Three yards of rope are sold in 
the market-place for a patank, five cents. Think 
of the toil and the hardship that go to that lit- 
tle coil of rope : the miles of walking barefoot 
through steep rocky ravines to the summit of the 
Caldeira, the fatiguing descent into the pit, the 
hours of hard labor in the broiling sun, the cruel 
climb under the dreadful burden, and the long 



72 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



walk home in the gloaming, with a loaf of hard 
bread, and a straw pallet for the weary bones, at 
the end of it. The rushes are tied first in 
small packages, then bound together in immense 
sheaves. A round place is left for the head, and 
softly lined with lycopodium. 

We reached the floor of the crater in an hour 
and a quarter. It was . covered with mints and 
tansy. The pond, which from above had ap- 
peared like stagnant water, was the outlet of a 
clear brook, the surface being covered with a 
network of the leaves of some aquatic plant. 
Gold and silver fishes darted among the roots. 
At some time or other, the crater lakes have 
been stocked with these fish. There are no 
native fish in the islands, and no snakes or rep- 
tiles of any kind. A few small pond-lilies 
bloomed sweetly near the shore. It was a relief 
to find life and beauty in place of stagnation and 
decay. Gazing upward, it was an awful sensa- 
tion to see the clouds pouring in over the edge 
of the abyss like a cataract, and rolling above 
us like billows of the sea. The terrible walls 
seemed to be closing in around us. It seemed 
impossible that we should ever scale them. In 
vain we strained our eyes to see the forms and 



THE CALDEIRA. 



73 



faces of those we had left behind. Of the depth 
and vastness of this amphitheatre one can form 
no adequate idea without descending into it. 

"Facile descensus est! seel revocare gradum, 
hoc opus, hie labor est." It requires a long stride 
to mount each step of the way. I had made 
with difficult}' a third of the distance, when one 
of the men, who had watched us from the top, 
came down to my aid. Seating me on his 
shoulder, and making me fold my hands on his 
head and sit erect, he held my knees stiffly 
against his chest, and in this way the strong- 
limbed fellow bore me up the dizzy path for sev- 
eral rods. But it was too great a strain on my 
nerves ; and I gladly took to my feet again, and 
was nearly up, though pretty well exhausted, 
when the rest of the men brought down a ham- 
mock, and carried me in state to the top. On 
our way home we were, to say the least, sur- 
prised, when our bearers laid us flat in the road 
to rest, preparatory to their run through the 
town, and were quite as ready as they to cry 
" Alleluia!" when they dumped us in our 
sagao at sunset. 



74 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



CAPELLO AND THE MYSTERIO. 

Sunday, Aug. 10. 




E started one Sunday morning for an 
excursion to Capello, a little village 
fourteen miles distant from Horta, at 
the west end of the island. Our carriage, as 
usual, was drawn by three mules. The road is 
one of the finest I ever saw. The soil is of such 
a nature that it is packed down with the hardness 
of concrete, and though sometimes dusty is never 
muddy. This road, which is finally to extend 
round the whole island, is now completed six 
miles to the north, and perhaps twice as far to 
the south-west. It is just wide enough for two 
vehicles. Much of it is built on solid masonry, 
as, for instance, when it crosses deep ravines. 

Our route lay at first between the high stone 
walls of suburban fields. In the crevices of the 
walls grew the corydalis, yellow oxalis, and the 
fleshy-leaved ice-plant, with its red purple tassel- 



CAPELLO AND TEE M YSTEEIO. 



75 



flowers, that is so often cultivated in broken tea- 
pots in New-England kitchen windows. Planta 
gela is its Portuguese name. In the gardens 
immense fuchsias and tall oleander-trees were 
blooming. The poplar trembled between the 
wicked-leaved dragon-tree, and fig-trees loaded 
with fruit. Emerging into the more thinly set- 
tled country, we followed the shore with a steady 
ascent towards Capello. 

No grass grew by the roadside ; and, in fact, 
none properly so called grows in the islands. 
The wild carrot and the bright little hop-clover 
were everywhere. Madeira- vines climbed in wild 
luxuriance, filling the air with fragrance ; tall 
canes waved their bannerets from the banks 
above us, and serpent-like cacti writhed among 
the rocks. 

Bare-legged women, with their gay petticoats 
tucked up, and great bundles of clothes on their 
heads, were picking their way among the black 
rocks, to wash in the pools just left by the surf. 
"Washing is done here in a way that certainly 
conduces to the whiteness of the clothes, though 
it may prove destructive to their texture. They 
are washed among the slimy rocks in sea-water, 
and never boiled. A big stone serves as a rub- 



76 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

bing-board. To dry, they are spread in the sun 
on rubbish-heaps by the road-side, with stones at 
the corners of each garment to hold it flat, and 
sprinkled two or three times a day, for several 
days. Notwithstanding the severity of the pro- 
cess, I have never seen better laundering. 

Our road lay through several little hamlets, 
the church and the tobacco- shop seemingly the 
nucleus of each. Groups of peasants saluted us 
pleasantly on their way to church. The church 
is always on an eminence, and presents an im- 
posing appearance. A broad plaza in front is 
terraced down to the highway, to which the de- 
scent is made by long flights of broad stone 
steps. A venerable appearance is given to the 
whitewashed facade of the church by its trim- 
mings and Roman cross of lichen-patched black 
lava. Its Moorish tower, with a bell in each of 
its four or five arches, makes it quite a pictu- 
resque object. The largest of these hamlets is 
Castello Branco, so named from an enormous 
white rock lying off the shore. It is four hun- 
dred feet high, and from the sea appears like a 
great fortress entirely disconnected from the 
shore. Seen from behind, it is found to be a 
bold promontory sloping backwards, and ending 



CAPELLO AND THE 31 Y ST E RIO. 77 

in a narrow neck of land, which joins it to the 
mainland. Ruins of a monastery are still to 
be seen on its summit, a former refuge for the 
nuns of neighboring convents, when the corsairs 
came down upon the island. Embedded in its 
walls, are said to be the remains of antique 
china plaques with which they were decorated. 
Truly there is nothing new under the sun. 

Between the villages, sloping to the sea, lay 
broad and fertile fields ; yams and sweet-pota- 
toes, besides Indian corn, wheat, and other 
grains, beans, melons, squashes, and potatoes, 
as luxuriant as on the meadow-lands of the 
Connecticut. The corn is not in hills, nor as 
we plant it for fodder in New England. Each 
stalk stands alone at regular distances from its 
neighbors. It grows very tall, and the ground 
beneath is apparently not hoed after planting. 
A thin undergrowth, and often vines and beans, 
grow between. These fields extend to the very 
ocean, where they end in high cliffs of black vol- 
canic rock, so soft that it is worn by the restless 
sea into caves and fantastic arches. 

When within three miles of Capello, our good 
road abruptly ended, and we were forced to 
turn into the old one, which, like those of all 



78 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

the islands, was originally paved. Our mules 
floundered helplessly among the irregular stones 
projecting at all angles from the worn-out pave- 
ment. The carriage threatened immediate disso- 
lution. The driver yelled and lashed to no pur- 
pose. Leaving him and his team to their fate, we 
proceeded on foot. The people in their Sunday 
clothes came out from their thatched-roofed huts 
to look at us, and an old woman offered us a 
bunch of lavender from her little yard. 

Ahead of us towered conical peaks, each with 
its crater, and all with smiling grain-fields on 
their beautiful slopes, — all save one, which, 
bare of verdure, glowed red in the angry glare 
of the noonday sun. From this peak flowed the 
latest lava stream of this island. Our last mile 
lay across the foot of this lava-bed, which is well 
named u The Mysterio," by the superstitious 
people. 

The most recent eruption on the island of 
Fayal took place on the 24th of April, 1672. 
The whole island, including the city of Horta, 
was covered with ashes to the depth of four 
inches. The molten lava poured down from the 
mountain, destroying churches and villages, and 
laying waste the fields. The path of the awful 



CAPELLO AND THE MYSTERIO. 79 



flood from the crater to the sea is still plain, 
though Nature for two hundred years has been 
doing her best to repair the ravages, and efface 
the scars on her beautiful face. Faya bushes 
and tree- heather are beginning to take root here 
and there ; but for miles in length, and a mile in 
width, the land is strewn to the depth of many 
feet with the lava stones. Time has softened 
their contour, and a soft gray lichen that covers 
the whole area relieves the desolation of the 
place. On the 8th of May of the year of the 
eruption, the people of Capello went in a body 
to Horta, and, in presence of the mayor and 
aldermen, registered a vow, which is still kept, to 
give alms to the poor on Whitsunday. 

Resuming our seats in the carriage, we reached 
Capello at mid-day. Here, as in other beautiful 
parts of the island, our consul has an unpreten- 
tious but comfortable house, to which with his 
family he often flits for a few clays' rest. His 
name is always a passport to redoubled courtesy 
on the part of the people ; and, when we ex- 
plained that we had his permission to take pos- 
session of his house for the clay, they stabled 
our mules and unpacked our hamper with the 
greatest alacrity. 



80 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



After lunch, we started for a cavern in the 
lava-bed from which fine specimens can be ob- 
tained. Our path was a sheep-path, winding 
gently up among the nearer hills. Blackbirds 
whistled in the cornfields ; Scotch heather cov- 
ered all the uncultivated spots ; lycopodium 
trailed along the banks on either side ; wild 
thyme and the spicy juniper exhaled sweet odors 
beneath our feet. A half-hour's walk brought 
us to the edge of the lava-bed. Carefully our 
guide picked his way, and cautiously we fol- 
lowed. The small blocks of lava piled upon 
each other seemed firm enough ; the beautiful 
gray lichen made a soft carpet for our feet ; but 
here and there dark crevices showed us awful 
caverns yawning beneath, into which at any 
moment we might be plunged by the giving way 
of a single stone. Imagine what it was for our 
soldiers to fight Indians on Eocky Mountain lava- 
beds ! 

Far away, a scarlet spot showed the mouth of 
the cave. When discovered by the consul's son, 
it was but a chink in the floor of the lava-bed, 
half-hidden by a tuft of ferns that grew beside 
it. It is now a hole twelve to fifteen feet deep 
and as many wide. 



CAPELLO AND THE MYSTERIO. 81 



G went clown into it, and with a hammer 

carefully broke off from the walls large pieces 
of red and gray lava, brittle and beautiful as 
coral. The whole place trembled and echoed 
hollow under our feet at every blow. It seems 
as if here the glowing torrent had suddenly cooled, 
and its fiery bubbles, protected by the denser sur- 
face of a more sluggish current, preserve their 
shape and color to this day. On long exposure 
to the air, this brilliant vermilion-covered lava, 
so different from the surface of the lava bed in 
texture, structure, and color, fades to a duller 
red. 

The vesper bells were clanging as we drove 
back into town. Women were filling their water- 
pots at the wells. Groups of idle men made a 
Babel of the street. It was like a scene in the 
" Tale of Two Cities," only that men who looked 
revolutionary enough to drag us aristocrats from 
our carriage, twitched off their tasselled caps, and 
smiled at us pleasantly as we passed. 



82 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



PICO. 

Monday, Aug. 11. 

HE island of Pico was long famous for 
its vineyards. In 1853 they were its 
chief source of wealth, thousands of 
pipes of wine being annually exported. Later 
the vines were destroyed by the Oidium Tuckeri, a 
mildew which blights both leaf and fruit. Though 
Pico now exports no wine, it is well worth a visit 
at the vintage- time. With a fast yacht and a 
fresh breeze, one may cross from Horta to the 
little village of Area Larga, in half an hour. The 
' 4 Bayadere ' ' danced lightly on the top of the 
waves, tossing back the spray in our faces. We 
ran into the cove on huge rollers that threatened 
to swamp our boat, completely submerging the 
landing steps, but were skilfully set ashore. The 
beach was lively with naked boys, who were drag- 
ging out great handf uls of the moss clutched from 
the crest of the waves. It is sold for a fertilizer. 




PICO. 



83 



Great, flat circular heaps of it, alternate red and 
white, were piled high upon the shingle. The 
glare of the walls was relieved by the fringy 
foliage of the tamarisk, the only kind of tree 
that flourishes on this island. It has long 
showy spikes of small pink flowers, and is very 
delicate and graceful. The consul's house here 
is interesting as having been formerly a priory. 
The refectory of the monks, and their narrow 
cells, are now the family sitting and sleeping 
rooms. 

From the veranda, the vineyards stretch up to 
the lower slopes of the mountain. At first glance 
one would hardly recognize them as such. The 
vines are not trained on poles as in European 
countries, but trail over long, low piles of black 
lava, the whole ground being checkered by these 
heaps into little squares. Seen at a distance 
the intervening land is hidden ; and one is 
not surprised that they were once mistaken 
for a coalyard by a Yankee sea-captain. The 
Pico grape is small and white, resembling the 
Delaware in size, shape, and texture. It has 
a delicious flavor, and is so delicate that one 
may eat pounds of them without a surfeit. 
We saw the grapes trodden out in a vat by 



84 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

the naked feet of boys and girls. The must 
foaming 

" Bound the white feet of laughing girls " 

is prettier in the poem than in reality. 

At sunset we strolled toward the village of 
Old Creation (Cria9ao Velha). It is destitute 
of water, and we passed troops of women carry- 
ing their buckets full from the seaside well two 
miles away. Any American woman might envy 
them their tall, straight figures, elegantly poised 
heads, and well-developed chests. 

The original costume of Pico is extremely 
pretty, — a dark blue petticoat of the heavy 
woollen stuff known as "picot," bordered with 
scarlet; a hussar jacket of the same, reaching 
to the bottom of the waist, with many seams in 
the back, welted with red ; a red cotton hand- 
kerchief for the head, surmounted by a man's 
straw hat of the flat braid of the island, and 
trimmed with a red worsted band. 

The glory of Pico is its magnificent mountain, 
from which the island takes its name. The peak 
of Pico rises directly from the ocean to a height 
of 7635 feet, — a height all the more impress- 
ive from the absence of surrounding hills. 



PICO. 



85 



It realizes one's beau-ideal of a volcano. 
Sloping symmetrically up from the sea, both 
sides converge at the top in a perfect cone, 
yet there is no sameness in its outline. Several 
parasitic craters spring from its sides near the 
base ; and the apex of the peak rises out of a 
great crater, whose precipitous wall presents a 
bold shoulder to the north. From the apex, 
itself a smaller crater, a thin volume of steam 
often ascends, which, illumined by the sun rising 
directly behind it, appears like a flame. 

The view of the mountain at sunset from 
Horta is beautiful beyond description. Often 
it is bathed from crown to base in a rosy glow 
that deepens into purple and is gone. Some- 
times a bright red spot, like a dome of burnished 
copper, suddenly appears in the midst of the 
clouds that all clay have shrouded the mountain. 
Instantly the cloud- curtains are drawn aside, as 
if by an unseen hand, and the peak, all aflame, 
is revealed. As we watch, it seems actually to 
flash redder and mount higher, the glow of it 
creeping down to the shoulders of the mountain, 
whose base is murky black. Alternately meet- 
ing and parting, as if to display the gorgeous 
spectacle, the clouds roll on ? and the peak, now 



86 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



lifted up into infinite height, now thrown back 
into infinite depths of space, is transfigured with 
an unearthly glory. 

The climate of the islands is equable. The 
thermometer in Horta never goes below 43° in 
winter, and seldom reaches 84° in summer. 
Nevertheless the summer here is enervating ; the 
dampness of the atmosphere being so great, 
that, even with a temperature of 70°, one is 
drenched with perspiration on the slightest ex- 
ertion. It is hottest in the early morning, a 
sea-breeze usually springing up later. The cli- 
mate of Pico is more bracing. Many residents 
of Fayal own estates in Pico, to which they re- 
sort in summer, on account of the better air and 
the opportunities for surf-bathing. In winter, 
frequent and violent storms of rain and wind 
prevail. The heights of the Caldeira and the 
summit of Pico are frequently capped with snow. 
During a recent winter hail-storm a Fayalese 
woman filled a little bottle with hailstones to 
preserve as a summer luxury. 



SAN JORGE, GRACIOSA, TERCEIRA. 87 



A PEEP AT SAN JORGE, GRACIOSA, 
AND TERCEIRA. 

Thursday, Aug. 14. 

N excellent line of Portuguese steamers 
affords fortnightly communication be- 
tween the Azores and Lisbon. Letters 
from America are received at the islands by 
this line, in from twenty to thirty days from the 
time of mailing in New York or Boston. Taking 
passage in these steamers at any of the islands* 
except Pico, which is regarded as but a suburb 
of Fayal, one may visit the others of the group. 

We embarked at Horta at midnight of Thurs- 
day, Aug. 14. Silent and depressed, as is natu- 
ral to those who go from the known to the 
unknown, we pushed out into the darkness. The 
bay was calm. Jupiter left a shining wake upon 
the waters as he went his way in the heavens. 
Our boat ploughed a furrow of phosphorescence 
in the sea. Stars fell from our dripping oars. 




88 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



Myriads of gulls, aroused from their slumbers, 
flew startled from their perch on the anchored 
lighters, shrieking ominously. 

The steamer fired her departing gun at two 
a.m., and three hours later another gun an- 
nounced our arrival at San Jorge. 

" Haven here 
Was none for ships, nor sheltering creek; but shores 
Beetling from high, and crags and walls of rock." 

A stay here of two or three hours, while the 
ship takes in her cargo, is all that one cares to 
make ; there being no accommodation for stran- 
gers. Graciosa is reached at noon. " Le plus 
gentil des isles," as a Frenchman on board as- 
sured us, it is, as its name imports, a pretty 
little island, but with no special attractions for 
the tourist. It was a festival day in the islands. 
Bells pealed from the church-towers in honor 
of the "consumption of Mary," so we were in- 
formed by a Portuguese gentleman who spoke 
English. 

Another delay of a few hours, another cargo 
of wheat, and then off for Terceira. As its 
name signifies, this island is the third of the 
group in order of discovery ; but it is the sec- 



SAN JORGE, GRACIOSA, TERCEIRA. 89 



ond in order of population and importance. 
The afternoon was squally, and a short chop- 
ping sea made us all unhappy. Our French 
acquaintance, helplessly appropriating one of our 
ship-chairs, gasps out, " Oh, mon Dieu ! je suis 
si derange que je n'ai pas le courage de com- 
plimenter les dames," — which for a Frenchman 
must have been very derange indeed. 

At six in the afternoon we cast anchor in the 
port of Angra, which is situated much like Horta. 
Monte da Brazil is the counterpart of Monte da 
Guia. Sloping backward, it connects with the 
city by a strongly fortified isthmus, in itself a 
village which has more than once been the refuge 
of the monarchs of Portugal during Peninsular 
revolutions. Angra earned its glorious title do 
Heroismo in 1828, when its citizens declared in 
favor of their rightful sovereign, Dona Maria II. 
After maintaining the defensive for nearly three 
years, this brave people took the offensive, and 
freed the islands from the power of the usurper, 
Dom Miguel. 

The steamer lies at Angra forty-eight hours, 
which the traveller finds sufficient, as the only 
hotel in the place is inconceivably comfortless 
and filthy. All that is worth seeing in and about 



90 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



the city may be seen in that time. As we walked 
up from the quay, the people flocked to their bal- 
conies to gaze at us. A little less staring would 
have been embarrassing. 

The entrance to the 4 4 Hotel Terceirense ' ' is 
through a sagao used as a wine-vault, and full 
of dusty hogsheads ; a musty, sour, evil-odored 
place, with which, alas ! we found the rest of the 
house in perfect keeping. 

After a night of indescribable horrors, we 
sallied out to see the city. Angra is the capital of 
the Azores. It is the residence of the governor- 
general and also of the bishop. It has better 
houses and wider streets than the other Azorean 
towns, and a pretty market-place. Here we saw 
the peasants in their clean linen suits with im- 
mense double collar-buttons of Roman gold. 
They wear on the back of the head funny little 
melon-shaped caps of dark-blue cloth with scarlet 
lappets turned up at the sides. 

We visited the cathedral, the largest church of 
the islands, and, like all the rest, tawdry. Con- 
nected with the church is a conference chamber 
for the bishop and priests. Here, ranged about 
the walls in chronological order, are the portraits 
of all the Azorean bishops, from the first one in 



SAN JORGE, GRAGJOSA, T ERG E IRA. 91 

1546 to the present incumbent. It is an interest- 
ing but poorly painted collection. Some were 
clone in Lisbon, others in San Miguel ; and those 
of the sixteenth century are fully equal to those 
of the nineteenth. At night we made our glad 
escape to the steamer, whose cleanly state-rooms 
were a grateful contrast to the vile bedrooms of 
the hotel. 

The raising of grain and cattle are the princi- 
pal industries of Terceira. The national custom 
of an annual bull-fight is still kept up at Angra. 
All day Sunday, lighters plied to and fro between 
shore and ship. The great hull trembled from 
stem to stern with the incessant jar and hiss of 
the donkey engines. Huge, black bulls, perhaps 
destined for some Spanish arena, dangled help- 
lessly in the air as they were hoisted on board. 
Sooty half-naked men, demon-like, appear from 
the infernal regions of the ship, and, staggering 
and sweating under their burdens, plunge again 
into the nethermost corners of the hold. 

At last the hatches are closed. The captain 
returns from the town. Beautiful boats gayly 
caparisoned, and manned by handsome crews in 
uniform with brilliant sashes, row out to us. 
They bring the creme de la creme of Terceira. 



92 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



The governor-general, resplendent in scarlet and 
gold lace, and scores of the military escorting 
elegantly dressed ladies, promenade our deck. 
The latter embrace the stewardess, and kiss her 
on both cheeks. Every man on board, from gov- 
ernor-general to cabin-boy, smokes and spits in- 
cessantly. The Portuguese is never seen without 
his cigarette. Ladies or no ladies, at table or 
elsewhere, puff, puff, with not so much as "By 
your leave." As an offset to this, however, no 
meal begins on the ship, and no gentleman takes 
his seat at the table, till the ladies appear. 

At sunset our signal-gun is fired. Frantic em- 
braces follow. Men clasp each other in their 
arms, and kiss each other ; the gay boats drop 
gracefully astern, and we steam slowly out of 
port. 



SAN MIGUEL AND ITS POET. 



93 




SAN MIGUEL AND ITS PORT. 

Monday, Aug. 18. 

j|UNRISE of the next morning finds the 
steamer anchored off Ponta Delgada, 
the seaport of San Miguel (St. Mich- 
ael's). Although this island is the largest and 
finest of the Azores, the first view of it from the 
sea is disappointing. Innumerable little conical 
hills extend in a monotonous, scalloped ridge 
behind the city. Externally Ponta Delgada re- 
sembles Horta. Its commerce is mostly with 
England, while that of Horta is with America. 
It has more wealth than Horta, and some fine 
residences surrounded by superb gardens of 
world-wide fame. There is a small English 
colony of pleasant people, and an English 
church. For the English hotel little can be 
said, but board at moderate rates may be had 
in private families ; and so situated one would 
doubtless find Ponta Delgada, with its fine air 



94 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



and delicious fruits, a delightful winter residence. 
San Miguel has a mean annual temperature of 
sixty degrees, which is twelve warmer than 
either Rome or Nice, and five warmer than Lis- 
bon. 

The ox-cart of San Miguel has immense wheels 
with spokes, and is drawn by one ox between two 
shafts. The women wear a peculiar capote, and 
the men a carapuga, or broadcloth cap with huge 
visor, and a deep havelock-like cape depending 
from it behind. 

The largest crater, that of the Sete Cidades, 
or Seven Cities, is at the north-western extremity 
of the island. Its longest diameter is three miles. 
In the bottom of this vast basin are two great 
lakes : one named Lagoa Azul from its blue color ; 
the other, Lagoa Verde, being as green as the first 
is blue. 

It is, however, in the crater known as the 
valley of the Furnas, that one finds more that 
is novel and attractive than anywhere else in the 
Azores. This valley is twenty-seven miles dis- 
tant from Ponta Delgada, at the eastern end of 
the island. It takes its name from its hot springs 
and geysers of mineral-water, which render it a 
resort for invalids. 



SAN MIGUEL AND ITS PORT. 



95 



With the usual three-mule carriage and chari- 
oteer, and three jacks and their drivers behind 
to carry our luggage, we started for the Furnas. 
Leaving the suburbs, the hills grew higher, and 
were covered with pine-trees, which had a home- 
like look, or would have had but for the piles 
of staves for the winter-orange boxes, already 
sawed and lying in the woods. The orange of 
San Miguel is the finest in the world, and hun- 
dreds of boxes are annually sent to England. 
The small, flat, thin-skinned, strong-flavored 
variety native to Morocco, and known as the 
Tangierina, is also grown here. The orange- 
season lasts from November to March. Wind- 
falls are never picked up. It often happens that 
some of the oranges do not come to maturity 
during the season. These dry up on the trees, 
but do not drop off, and the next year attain 
their full size, and ripen in early summer. We 
gathered delicious Tangierinas from the trees in 
August, that were the relics of the last year's 
crop. 

The road is excellent, hard-trodden and slight- 
ly convex, with stone water- courses at the side, 
masonry along every precipice, and stone bridges 
over every mountain torrent. Ever and anon we 



96 A SUMMER JN THE AZORES. 

ran clown at full speed from the top of steep 
hills to the very shore of the sea, meeting the 
cool breeze, and dashing through villages quaint 
and pretty, — and, alas ! poor in direct ratio to 
their picturesqueness. Half -clad women, with 
folded arms, idle and inane but for the look of 
stolid despair on their otherwise expressionless 
faces, crouched on the floor of their squalid huts, 
which they shared with the hens and pigeons. 
Naked babies crawled about the doors, and an 
army of brutal and savage children ran clamor- 
ing after us for alms. 

All along our route, old stone fountains bab- 
bled, and from their brazen throats poured cool 
mountain springs to refresh the weary traveller. 
Women were filling their great red water- jars at 
the spouts ; others had dammed up the overflow 
in the road, and were washing their clothes in 
the puddle. Many were harvesting. Great heaps 
of corn lay on the eiras; and whole families were 
squatting beside them, braiding bunches of ears 
together by the husks. These the men hung up 
high to dry on four poles put together like a 
wigwam, mounting to the top by ladders. Beau- 
tiful in color were these rural pictures. Pearly- 
white and orange-yellow stacks, towering up side 



SAN MIGUEL AND ITS POET. 



97 



by side from the gray floor of the eira, with the 
blue sky or the bluer sea for a background. 

Finally a pair of cattle was hitched ahead of 
our mules, and we started on the last pull up the 
mountain. As we ascended, the land grew more 
sterile. Goats clambered up the narrow moun- 
tain paths. It grew chilly. The clouds hung 
lower. Spits of rain pelted us sharply now and 
then. Silence brooded over the place, and in- 
fected us. But for the bright little heather, we 
should have felt we were entering the land of 
desolation. At last we ran out on a narrow 
tongue of the table-land, and stopped. A stu- 
pendous view lay before us. Hundreds of feet 
beneath, the valley of the Furnas yawning and 
smoking like the bottomless pit ; the steam of its 
geysers illumined by the last rays of the setting 
sun flaming up from its depths. Fastening an 
iron shoe to the hind wheel of the carriage, we 
ploughed along the level for a few feet, the 
drp r plied his lash, and down we flew, round 
fearful curves and sharp zigzags, dashing wildly 
down the precipice, sliding near enough to its 
walled edge to make us faint with the awful 
glimpses of the gulf below. 



98 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



THE FURNAS. - GREN A AND THE 
CALDEIRAS. 



IP 



Monday, Aug. 18. 

j|HE bottom reached, our tongues are 
loosed. There is certainly a charming 
novelty in the idea of dwelling for a 
while in an extinct crater. Not so extinct, how- 
ever, but that it still quivers with half-suppressed 
convulsions of internal rage, and mutters sullen 
premonitions of future outburst. Not so alive, 
either, but that man has pitched his habitation 
all over its surface, and cornfields wave upon its 
slopes, and the yam and the sweet potato flourish, 
cheated into a tropical luxuriance by its subter- 
ranean fires, and watered by the spray of its 
boiling brooks. 

There is a good Portuguese inn in the village 
of the Furnas, but this was not our destination. 
We were bound for an English estate two or 
three miles beyond, the steward of which is privi- 



THE FURNAS. 



99 



leged to receive a few guests, whenever the man- 
sion is not occupied by the owner's family. 
Dismissing our carriage, in a twinkling five 
donkeys and their drivers put themselves at our 
service, and we started for Mr. B 's. Wind- 
ing in and out among the hills from which iron 
brooks poured down in their rusty beds, we 
crossed the rim of the Furnas crater, on the 
opposite side from that by which we had entered, 
and dropped down into its duplicate, a crater as 
deep, as wonderful, as the first. Leaving the 
main road, we struck into a narrow donkey-path 
following the lake shore up to the estate of 
Grena. Its great white house, the only one in 
the crater, came into view about a mile ahead, 
beautifully situated on a high terrace, supported 
by two bold wooded headlands that sloped to the 
lake. Behind it rose cliffs as majestic as the 
Eagle Cliff at Franconia Notch, with surrounding 
scenery even grander, because connected with 
such sublime manifestations of nature. 

Hawks flew screaming about the cliffs. No 
other sound but the little patter of the donkeys' 
feet. Clouds rolled and seethed out of the trun- 
cated peaks of the crater rim ; the sky was over- 
cast, the wind sighed through the pines, — a 



100 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



sombre sky, a mournful wind. Here and there 
the surface of the lake along the shore bubbled 
with a sluggish ebullition. Fumes of sulphur 
filled the air. The rocks on either side the path 
as we wound along the cliff were warm. Vol- 
umes of thick steam rose from a lakelet which 
boiled up from its very depths with a violent 
agitation. Nothing could be more impressive 
than that twilight ride in that strange land, — the 
still, dark lake silently exhaling its poisonous 
gases ; the pond, a fierce, hot caldron, noisily 
threatening horrible death to one whose foot might 
slip on its brink ; the ground rent and riven, 
groaning at every rift, and sweating at every pore 
with the terrible struggles of the panting giant 
below, chained for a time, but none can tell how 
soon to be let loose with devastating power upon 
that smiling valley. 

At much inconvenience to herself, and with a 
totally un-English cordiality, the mistress of the 
mansion made room for us ; and we were soon 
established in comfortable quarters. The house 
is a thousand feet above the level of the sea, 
and abruptly behind it tower cliffs a thousand 
feet higher. The scenery is enchanting, with 
the placid lake dreamily reflecting the beautiful 



THE FURNAS. 



101 



alps, and the deep ravines among which fair 
Echo runs shouting whole sentences. " It is like 
the Tyrol, like Interlachen ! " cried our invalid, 
drawing back her curtain the morning after our 
arrival ; but it is like nothing but its own inim- 
itable self. 

Our life here was like a chapter out of 
' ' Quits. 9 -\ Going to ' ' The Top ' ' before breakfast 
to drink new milk while the herdsmen milked, 
with a bit of black bread in our pockets, and 
alpenstocks in our hands, was like Nora's excur- 
sions in the Tyrol. " The Top " was an alpine 
solitude, with here and there its cheese-makers, 
its fagot-cutters, and its charcoal-burners. It 
was like Nora anxiously waiting for the return 
of her cousin Jack from one of his adventures, 
when we went out in the moonlight, and heard 
the peasants hallooing and waking the echoes on 
the other side of the lake, and voices far away 
among the hills, and saw white figures stealing 
along the shore, and finally a dark object bounded 
up the path close by us, and it was our colle- 
gian returned from the festa. The miller and 
the forester, Seppel and Rosel, — we found them 
all here, but with Portuguese names. 

The estate of Grena contains over four hundred 



102 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



acres, comprising, among other little items, a 
thousand orange-trees. It is managed by Mr. 
George Brown, who is an authority on the botany 
of the island, an ardent lover of Nature, and 
possessed of all her secrets. He is also a kindly 
and agreeable man, and, with his refined and 
amiable family, adds much to the charm of the 
place. 1 One may wander for hours among the 
winding paths of Grena, listening to the songs 
of the canaries, of which the woods are full, or 
to the softer music of cascades as wonderful and 
as beautiful as the Staubbach. Time fails me to 
tell half the delights of Grena. The air is bra- 
cing and exhilarating ; the temperature so equable 
that our thermometer varied only from 69° in the 
morning to 72° at midday during the four weeks 
we passed there. 75° in summer, and 50° in 
winter, are the extremes of temperature. It is 
not warm enough to ripen tomatoes, figs, or 
bananas. 

The caldeiras, or geysers, are a continual source 
of interest. Those at Grena occur in a sterile 
patch of pumice and clay, about half an acre in 
extent, the surface of which is thickly sown with 

1 Since the above was written Mr. Brown has died. 
His family now reside in Ponta Delgada. 



THE FURNAS. 



103 



alum and soda. The ground sounds hollow under 
the tread, and hot steam hisses from every crack. 
Near the boiling lakelet I have described, a per- 
petual churning is heard, like the splashing of 
water under a revolving wheel in a pit. Below, 
the pit resounds and trembles with a regular thud, 
like the steady beat of an engine, and, at each 
pulsation, vomits forth scalding water which is 
covered with an oily scum, and deposits a gluey 
clay on the sides of the pit. We named the 
place the Devil's Engine-Eoom, for it seems as 
if here lay the motive power of all the infernal 
convulsions about us. We concluded that the 
prophet who first threatened sinners with the lake 
that burnetii with fire and brimstone lived in a 
volcanic country, and wrote whereof he knew. 

Side by side, so that one can put the thumb in 
one, and the forefinger of the same hand in the 
other, one finds icy-cold soda-water, sparkling 
like champagne, separated only by a thin rim of 
clay from sulphur-water so hot and so offensive 
that one can hardly bear the touch or smell of it ; 
and, what is more remarkable, the cold spring 
is in a state of as active ebullition as the hot 
one. 

The caldeiras of the Furnas are situated on an 



104 A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



elevated plateau, from which the waters are car- 
ried in pipes to the baths and fountains. The 
earth is in cms ted with crystals of sulphur, alum, 
and soda. It is so hot that a cane thrust into it 
is scorched ; and one must needs walk briskly over 
it. Suffocating clouds of steam, laden with sul- 
phuretted hydrogen, drift from every direction 
into our face. The Bocca (V Inferno, or Mouth 
of Hell, is an ugly-looking pit, on a much larger 
scale than that at Grena. A deafening noise is 
made by the imprisoned fiends. There is a roar- 
ing and rumbling as of distant thunder ; a gur- 
gling like a dense volume of water flowing through 
an underground vault ; a beating as of bass- 
drums ; and the same semi-liquid, pitchy clay is 
pumped out as if by machinery. The peasants 
use it as a salve for rheumatic joints. 

All the ground is permeated with mineral 
springs of every kind and temperature. Near 
one, that looked like a burnt-out, half -demolished 
chimney with a boiling pot at the bottom, a 
woman stood watching three ears of corn, which 
she had thrown in to cook for her breakfast. 
Her husband had coiled the willow twigs for his 
baskets in another caldron, and was busy strip- 
ping off the bark. The overflow of the dinner-pot 



THE FURNAS. 



105 



ran along the roadside, till it fell tumbling into a 
yam-field, where we traced it by its steam for rods. 

Close by is a clear, cold, effervescent spring 
of soda-water, so charged with carbonic-acid gas, 
that a little of it shaken up in a bottle throws 
out the cork with a loud report. As we tossed 
off cupful after cupful, the woman, who was 
cooking her corn, nodded approvingly at us, and, 
catching up her two babies, held them up in" turn, 
with their mouths to the spout, saying, " Muito 
gosto; faz muito gosto " (It makes a good appe- 
tite) ; the only wonder being that she could 
wish to stimulate the appetites of the poor little 
wretches. 

Passing through a tunnel, warmed by natural 
emanations, and tapestried with beautiful efflo- 
rescences of sulphur and alum, we came upon 
four great tanks of water, that supply the baths. 
The bath-house, which is of gray stone, is not 
yet completed. It is pleasantly situated, and 
generously designed by the Portuguese govern- 
ment, to include apartments for the sick, and 
separate establishments for those of both sexes 
who do not seek the baths as invalids. The 
bath-rooms are large, with a dressing-room to 
each, stone floors, and marble bath-tubs, large 



106 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



enough to float in, sunk to the level of the floor. 
Four faucets, opening into each, supply hot and 
cold sulphur and iron waters, at the caprice of 
the bather. The baths are free of charge to all ; 
a small fee to the attendant at the end of the 
season being all that is expected. 



PEASANT LIFE IN THE FUMNAS. 107 



PEASANT LIFE IN THE FURNAS. 




HE Furnas village is far more pic- 
turesque than any we have seen. The 
streets are narrower, and so hard trod- 
den, that the peasants use them for a threshing- 
floor. As we ride through them, our donkeys 
pick their way carefully between heaps of lupine 
which the men are threshing with flails before 
their doors. In the first book of the Georgics, 
Virgil impresses upon the Italians the necessity 
of a rotation of crops, to preserve the soil from 
exhaustion, and especially urges the alternation 
of a light leguminous crop with the heavier grain 
crops. 

" Changing the season," he says, "you will 
sow the golden corn on that soil from which you 
shall have first gathered the merry pulse with 
rattling pod, or the tiny seeds of the vetch, and 
the brittle stalks and rustling forest of the bitter 
lupine." This good advice was so well followed 
by the Romans that they carried the lupine with 



108 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

them into their conquered provinces ; and through- 
out the Azores, to this clay, the leguminous crop 
alternates with the grain crop. When about three 
feet high, the lupine is cut with a sort of two- 
edged sword, and the stubble is ploughed in for 
a fertilizer. The bean of the lupine is very bit- 
ter. The Furnas peasants carry bags of them 
down to the sea ; and, after they are pickled by 
lying for a few days in the salt water, they are 
sold at the street-corners as one of the delicacies 
of the Lenten season. 

At every turn of the road are gushing foun- 
tains, and beside them women in fantastic cos- 
tumes, filling their antique water-jars. Where 
the river runs under the bridge, groups of them 
are always washing. Often we meet little chil- 
dren — a girl with her soiled apron, or a boy 
singing and swinging his dirty shirt — on their 
way to the river. Follow them, and you will see 
them scrub away at their little duds as deftly as 
their mothers. 

The houses are all of stone, one story, with 
high thatched roofs. They stand close upon the 
street, with no yards in front, each projecting a 
little beyond its neighbor. One small square 
window, swinging inward, is placed high up in 



PEASANT LIFE JN THE FURNAS. 109 

the front wall, and never closed but at night. 
The front door always stands invitingly open ; 
and, even if the lower half be shut, the top panel, 
which is on hinges, is flung wide open into the 
room. Such fascinating pictures as we often see 
framed in these half-open doors ! here a Rem- 
brandt, there a Rubens ; an old man in his shirt- 
sleeves, resting his arms on the casement, stolid- 
ly smoking, his silvery hair straggling from 
under his gay knit cap ; or a bright red hand- 
kerchief, crossed on a woman's breast, lights up 
the dark background, the leathery wrinkled old 
face contrasting sharply with the spotless white 
of the turbaned head, leaning meditatively on 
one hand. There are Murillos too, but of a less 
attractive sort, hardly to be mentioned to ears 
polite. 

The interior consists of one room with floor of 
earth, strewn with rushes or pine-needles. Its 
furniture, — two beds, touching foot to foot, and 
occupying one end of the room ; two Eastlake 
chairs, that would fill the heart of the modern 
decorator with envy ; a deep stone window-seat 
under the high window ; a niche in the opposite 
wall, usually containing a bambino ; and a table. 

The beds are made up high, with ticks of 



110 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



home-made linen, filled with husks, moss, or a 
soft, silky fibre gathered from the rootstock of 
the Bicksonia culcita, a fern very abundant here ; 
a hard round bolster, and no pillows. When the 
family is too numerous to stow away in the two 
beds, others are made up under them, and trun- 
dled out at night. A loft is also made in the 
peak of the roof for the big boys, by swinging a 
floor of boards half across the living-room, above 
the other beds. Often one may see the men of 
the family taking here their noonday rest while 
below 

" The wife, solacing with song her tedious labor, runs 
through the webs with her shrill sounding shuttle." 

Wandering from house to house in the valley 
of the Furnas, we easily forget w^e are living in 
the middle of the nineteenth century, so primitive 
are the occupations of the people. 

"Sonie in querns 
Ground small the yellow grain ; 
Some wove the web 

Or twirled the spindle, sitting, with a quick 
Light motion like the aspen's glancing leaves;" 

Or held 

" The distaff wrapped in wool 
Of color like the violet." 



PEASANT LIFE IN THE FURNAS. Ill 



One dries his corn in the capacious oven, or 

" Weaves the pliant basket of bramble twigs," 

or slowly rears his wattle fence of the yielding 
cane. One flits from hearth to hearth with *v pot- 
sherd of live coals. 

Others bear on their heads great bundles of 
flax from the fields ; while others again bruise, 
hackle, spin, and wind it ready for the loom. 
Few are idle. Their patient toil and their simple 
lives are full of lessons for us. They show us 
how circumscribed is the limit of the actual neces- 
sities of life, and our own extravagance and 
wastefulness as individuals and as a nation. 
Many of them never look over the walls of the 
crater in which they were born. They work from 
sunrise to sunset for about a shilling a day. Their 
food is corn-bread and a drink of spring-water, 
with now and then a few bitter beans and a bit 
of dry fish as luxuries. They have no barns nor 
storehouses ; for there is no grass to cut, the 
corn is housed with the family, and the hens and 
pigeons roost among the thatch. Most of them 
own neither field nor cart, nor ox nor horse, nor 
donkey nor cow nor goat. They have neither 
tea nor coffee, and seldom taste a drop of milk. 



112 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



At Christmas- tide they have good cheer ; for 
every man who can afford to keep one kills his 
pig, and exchanges with his neighbors. 

. The peasant of the Furnas valley utilizes every 
thing that grows. He feeds his porca on the wild 
lettuce, the brake, and the yam-leaf. He braids 
the reed into ropes, plaits it into matting, or uses 
it and the pine-leaf to carpet his floor. Of its 
pith he makes artificial flowers. Of the bramble 
and the willow he weaves his baskets which serve 
him as well for cart, and w T heelbarrow, and fan- 
ning-mill. The bamboo he uses for his staff, his 
fence, and his rafters. His roof and his hat are 
of straw. The flax supplies most of his cloth- 
ing. His dye-stuffs are the weeds of the hillside. 
The volcano furnishes the stone, for his dwelling ; 
the brook, the clay for his pottery. He makes 
his bed of moss, or husks, or fern-silk. The 
Faya and the heather give him his fuel. His 
greatest ambition is to become the possessor of 
an American lamp, clock, or umbrella. 

One of the drollest of their customs is that of 
attaching nicknames which in time supersede the 
real name of the person. The most trivial inci- 
dent supplies the nickname. For instance, the 
real name of the father of Anton, one of our 



PEASANT LIFE IN THE FURNAS. 113 

clonkey-men, was Pereire ; but at a pig-killing, an 
occasion of great merriment, he got the appen- 
dage of Ribica, or Pigtail, to his name. Hence 
Anton is called Anton Ribica ; and were he to be 
spoken of as Anton Pereire, no one would know 
who was meant. Our old Francisco is nicknamed 
Panela, or Saucepan ; and his son Manuel, the 
soldier, is always soberly called Manuel Panela. 

Anton is a very intelligent fellow. He would 
be called "smart" for a Yankee : for a Portu- 
guese peasant, his energy, his promptness, his 
shrewdness, and his quick perception of character 
are remarkable. Our enthusiasm over every thing- 
delights him. He contrasts it with the immobil- 
ity of the " Ingles." He and the rest of the 
donkey-men are unwearied in their efforts to en- 
tertain us. We asked him one clay which he liked 
best, — Americans, or Portuguese. Of course he 
said Americans, and then threw us into convul- 
sions of laughter by proceeding to explain the 
difference, and to give his reasons for his prefer- 
ence. He is a perfect mimic ; and with unrivalled 
pantomime, and a few Portuguese words, he gave 
us the typical lady of both nations. 

The senliora Americana sews, writes, reads 
French and German, and plays the piano ; she 



114 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



travels ; she likes the burro, and enjoys the 
buena vista. 

The senhora Portuguese does nothing of all 
this. She reads nothing ; she sits at home and 
fans herself; she " valsa, vcdsa, sempre valsa," 
and cares for nothing but u danga, danga, sempre 
danga." And, fanning himself violently with his 
hat, Anton waltzed down the road to show us 
how she did it. 



A BALL IN THE FURNAS. 



115 



A BALL IN THE FURNAS. 

Wednesday, Sept. 3. 




E told Anton we slionld like to see some 
dancing ; and, after some consultation, 
it was decided to give a ball at Fran- 
cisc's house. "We suggested Tuesday as a con- 
venient night for us, but noticed that their 
interest suddenly abated. Anton explained that 
Tuesday was an unlucky day : would the senoras 
name " hum outro dia"? 

Promptly at eight o'clock on Wednesday even- 
ing our men appeared with Borboleta (Butterfly) , 
the two Cupids, and the nameless burro, to con- 
vey us to the ball at the village, two miles away. 
The moon was slightly on the wane, but the 
night was light. Every star shone reflected in 
the lake below us. Brilliant meteors shooting 
through the sky were mirrored in the depths of 
the placid water, and on its surface were pic- 
tured the house and every twig of the forest 



116 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

behind it. - It was as cool as a late October 
night ; and the air was damp, and heavy with 
the fumes of mephitic gases. The* frogs kept 
up a dismal croaking. "jRanae?" I said ten- 
tatively to Anton. " Si, senlwra : r-r-r-rad ! " he 
shouted gleefully, with a long roll of the r. 

The village street was dark and still ; the 
casements and doors closed, and from behind 
them issued subdued voices as from people who 
had gone to their night's repose. One or two 
doors were open, and those who still sat in 
them spoke softly. m Arriving at Francisc's, he 
gave a loud rap with his donkey-stick on the 
door, which was opened at once by his wife, — 
" minha mulher," as he introduced her. 

The main room of the house was artistically 
decorated with masses of the bright blue hydran- 
gea and immense fronds of a beautiful Wood- 
wardia fern. The guests, already assembled, 
all rose as we entered. "They grow manners 

here," G says ; and truly they do. There 

was no vulgar staring ; no snickering or jostling 
of each other to regard the strangers. If we 
behaved with equal decorum, we must have done 
credit to our nation. I am sure, that, under sim- 
ilar circumstances, a crowd of our countrymen 



A BALL IN THE FURNAS. 117 



and women of the same rank in society would 
have exhibited rudeness and low-breeding. 

Our hostess devoted herself to entertaining us, 
expressing great regret at the absence of Mr. 

B 's daughter, who was to have accompanied 

us. " Sophy muita bonita" she said, pointing 
to her face ; and "midta bom," laying her hand 
on her heart. They make careful distinction be- 
tween beauty of face and beauty of soul. 

After some waiting, a joke appeared to be cir- 
culating among the company, which our hostess 
politely explained, telling us that somebody had 
said that the violist was usually three months 
dressing for a ball. In he came soon, however, 
— a fine-looking fellow, much better dressed than 
the rest, — singing, smoking, twanging his viola, 
and dancing three steps and a shuffle as he en- 
tered. One by one the men fell in behind him, 
till there was a circle all round the room ; one by 
one they beckoned the women m, and all danced 
and sang, following the leader, in a double ring, 
snapping their fingers high above their heads, in 
time with the viola. With solemn faces they 
kept up the monotonous procession. Now and 
then one of the men burst into a loud recitative, 
at which all laughed ; and either another would 



118 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



take it up, and add to it in the same strain, or 
a woman would reply to it. This recitative, 
chanted to the tune of the viola, is always impro- 
vised, and is often made the vehicle for sharp per- 
sonalities, and for good-natured joking at those 
suspected of being enamoured of each other. 

Some of these improvisations hinted at infe- 
licitous matrimonial experience on the part of 
the singer. " If my wife dies," said one, "I 
will tie a ribbon on her, and get another much 
younger and handsomer.' ' Some had a poetical 
East Indian flavor: "I have seen the sun rise 
in the morning from the flower of the water- 
melon ; and this is why he is so yellow during 
the day." The simplicity of the subjects, and 
the naivete of the expression, were a striking 
contrast to our conventionalism. 

One, gayly attired like a Spanish brigand, in 
corduroy breeches, a black braided jacket bor- 
dered with velvet, and a broad scarlet sash, 
stamped as he danced, and sang in stentorian 
voice, "When I sing the little seeds all jump 
out of the ground." All laughed at his elation, 
except our hostess, who frowned as if she feared 
some indecorum on his part. 

The " charamba" ended, the " saudade," a 
sad strain on the viola, followed. 



A BALL IN THE FURNAS. 



119 



Saudade means " longing." They often put 
" muitas saudades" at the end of their letters. 
While this was going on, a young girl sat down 

by E , laid her head on her shoulder, put her 

arms round her, and gave her an affectionate 
little squeeze. 

Gayer dances followed. They formed in lines 
as we do for our Virginia reel, and went down 
the middle by couples, in a series of balancings 
marvellous to behold. As we came away they 
were marching about arm in arm, with now and 
then a little skipping step. 

There was no light in the village, as we rode 
homeward. The barking of a dog, and the click- 
ing of the donkeys' feet, were the only sounds 
that broke the stillness of the night. 

As we wound among the cliffs, Ernest told 
the men to unite in a loud halloo. The echo was 
magnificent. It was caught up by peak after 
peak, successively, and came back to us fainter 
and fainter, as if from elf-lands more and more 
remote. 

Though it was after midnight, Mrs. B 

and Sophy met us at the door, and Maria had 
delicious cold chicken set out for us in the dining- 
room. 



120 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



FAREWELL TO THE FURNAS. 

Saturday, Sept. 6. 

EVER sleepier, and never later in bed, 
than on the morning of Saturday, Sept. 
6, when we were suddenly roused by a 
loud rap on the door. "Another earthquake," 
said I to myself, quite familiarized to such tri- 
fling occurrences by a month's residence in the 
crater of an extinct volcano. " Beef-tea time," 
drowsily ejaculated our invalid,, turning over for 
another nap. 

A louder knock! " Who is there?" I cried. 
"Eet ees me, Mareea," replied our slow- 
speeched maid-of-all-work. I opened the door. 
She held up a letter. It was for the Illustrissimo 
Excellentissimo Senhor our collegian, who had 
started with Anton Ribica, two hours before, for 
Pico da Varra, the highest mountain of San 
Miguel. 

I was perplexed. Evidently the letter wa$ 




FAREWELL TO THE FURNAS. 



121 



from the American consul at Ponta Delgada, and 
probably concerned us all. We opened it, and 
read to the effect that the United States steamer 
was in ahead of time ; that she would sail at once 
for Madeira ; that the consul had sent, the day 
before, a carriage for us with this letter inform- 
ing us that we must be in Ponta Delgada at six 
p.m. this very day ; and, added Maria with a grin, 
" Ee sez ef you not go ee tek sum body else." 

The unreliable Portuguese coachman had 
arrived seasonably the night before in the Fur- 
nas, with special orders to use all speed and to 
return as early as possible the next day. Instead 
of bringing the message at once, the irresponsible 
idiot had caroused all night with his friends in 
the village. He had chatted with half a dozen 
peasants in the morning, on their way to our 
house, any one of whom would have brought us 
the message early enough to have prevented the 
collegian's excursion. A dozen things he might 
have done to expedite matters, which he had as a 
matter of course omitted to do. But " Paciencia, 
sempre paciencia. ' ' Ne vous derangez jamais. 

So here we were. Four trunks to pack, the 

key of one in G 's pocket, and he with Anton 

and donkeys galloping in another direction, hav- 



122 A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



ing already two hours the start ; our washing in 
the tubs at Francisco's, two miles away in the 
village ; donkeys for ourselves and the luggage 
to be got from the Furnas ; the faithless driver 
to be hunted up with his carriage ; and twenty- 
seven miles of hill and dale between us and the 
steamer to be travelled after all was ready. 

We sent runners on foot in all directions. One 
over the hills by a short cut, to overtake Anton 

and G if possible ; another to the city, to 

tell Capt. H the cause of delay, and beg him 

to wait for us ; a third to the village, for the wet 
clothes and the slow-paced asses ; while a fourth 
was stationed at a fork in the road, to intercept 
the excursionists if by chance they should return 
by another way. By ten o'clock the trunks were 
packed, and on the donkeys' backs, with the 
promise that they should be in the city by five 
p.m. at the farthest. 

We ambled to the village to await the arrival 

of G at Francisco's, and thus gain two miles 

on the distance. Stationing Manuel and little 
Anton at different points on the road to watch for 
our wayfarers, we hunted up coachee, and ordered 
him to "the Top," to await us there with the car- 
riage, as he could not drag us up without bullocks. 



FAREWELL TO THE FURNAS. 123 



As innocently as if he were not himself the cause 
of all our trouble, he impressed upon us that the 
Senhor Thomas had charged him not to start later 
than noon. 

Thus all things being done that could be done, 
we sat down in Francisc's kitchen to wait. 
" Pacieiwia! 99 cried "minim mulher 99 encoura- 
gingly ; and, smiling blandly, went on with her 
ironing. She was doing it with what she called 
" American irons," though I never saw them in 
our country, — a great box- iron, with a pan of 
charcoal inside, and a chimney that gave it the 
appearance of a juvenile locomotive. She pushed 
it about twenty times leisurely back and forth 
over one wristband ; then it was switched off, 
and she sat down to chat with her daughter and 
a girl from the neighborhood, who was dressmak- 
ing for her. Then, catching up a distaff, and 
beginning to spin, she seemed to be struck with 
admiration of herself, and asked us in Portuguese 
if her man were not lucky to have a wife who 
could cook, and wash and iron, and make dresses, 
and spin and weave. 

Assuring her he was much to be felicitated, 
I ran into the street to be sure that our sentries 
were on duty, and to my great joy met our 



124 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



mountaineers. They had been to the top of the 
peak ; had been driven down by a hard rain ; in 
some mysterious way had missed our courier ; 
and, merely by great good luck, were here at 
half-past one, instead of at dusk. Cutting short 

G 's questions, we mounted him on a fresh 

donkey, and started for " The Top." 

The villagers, who by this time knew the 
whole story, and gathered in excited groups in 
the street, shouted "Boa viagem!" after us. 
"The Top" was finally reached, and the last 
farewells uttered. 6 6 Good- by ! ' ' shouted Man- 
uel in broad English, as his last tribute to us. 
Anton, the handsome dog, put his hand on his 
heart, and tried to look sentimental. "More 
Americans will come soon, Anton," we said, by 
way of consolation. "Ah, senlwra, but nao si 
bom, siboiiita" (but none so good, so beautiful), 
— a delicate compliment with which our prince of 
donkey-men has doubtless sped his parting guests 
for the last ten years. 



RED TAPE. 



125 



RED TAPE. 

Saturday, Sept. 6. 

RESA ! we shouted to the coachman. 
For reply he deliberately rolled up a 
cigarette, lighted it, and went to work 
mending his harness with a bit of stick in place 
of a missing buckle-tongue. " Preset!" again 
we screamed in chorus. For a few minutes we 

pressed ; then he coolly gave the reins to G , 

and fell asleep on his box. Seizing this momen- 
tary advantage, G goaded the mules in- 
cessantly ; but there was no go in them, and we 
resigned ourselves to fate. At every descent 
where we might have increased our speed, cabbie 
dismounted, fixed an iron shoe to the hind wheel, 
and we ploughed painfully down, to come to a 
dead standstill at the bottom, and pull laboriously 
up again. Finally he announced that we must 
wait for bullocks. Our patience was exhausted. 
Leaving G to drive him, we walked ahead. 




126 



A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



It seemed as if they would never overtake us ; 
and, when they did, there were no bullocks to be 

seen. G doubted whether he had meant to 

get any, and thought he had only stopped for a 
friendly chit-chat with his fellow-citizens. 

At eight in the evening we reached the out- 
skirts of the city, got a view of the bay, and 
were greatly relieved to see our steamer's lights 
in the distance. Of course we were then in a 
greater hurry than ever. But what did our ras- 
cally coachman do, but draw up at a drinking- 
shop, get off his box, saunter in, throw down 
his money, and toss off his glass, as if all eternity 

lay before him ! We stormed ; we sent G in 

to drag him out. After a quarter of an hour he 
came out smiling, and calmly lighting his lamps 
went on at a brisk pace. Thump, thump ! at the 
consul's door. No answer. Finally he appeared, 
and advised us to be off as soon as possible to 
the ship. 

Up from the archway of the quay started our 
courier, as we rattled by. The captain was im- 
patient to be gone ; the baggage had not yet 
arrived : we must go on board then, or not at all. 
We flew to the hotel. There we were told that 
it would be useless to wait for our luggage ; that 



RED TAPE. 



127 



the men, knowing that they were already three 
hours behind time, would stay outside the city 
all night, and come in early in the morning. By 
that time u The Mississippi" would be well on 
her way to Madeira. 

We despatched a boat to the steamer to notify 
the captain that we were in the city, our baggage 
momentarily expected, — would he wait ? While 
this question was pending, a new perplexity 
arose. The custom-house would clear no lug- 
gage after seven. It was now half-past eight. 
A messenger was sent to the director of customs, 
who was regaling himself at his club, to ask an 
extension. For answer, the director replied that 
he would grant it to the regular steamer (of the 
Portuguese line), but not to u The Mississippi." 
Our blood was up. What could be done for a 
Portuguese should be done for a freeborn Ameri- 
can. We sent G off to the consul, to order 

him to go personally to the director, and demand a 
clearance for us. Meantime word came from the 
captain that the steamer should wait till eleven 

o'clock, and 4 4 not a moment longer." G 

returned disheartened. The Senhor Thomas was 
" afraid of the night air, and could not go out," 
but gave him a note to the director. Armed 



128 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



w'th this, G finally forced an entrance to the 

club, and got a written permit from the director 
to take our baggage on board any time before 
midnight. Speechless we sat and waited. 

It was ten o'clock when the welcome news was 
brought that the donkeys with the luggage were 
on the quay. We walked briskly down. There 
was need of haste. We passed through the arch, 
and out upon the pier. All was darkness. The 
water lapping the side of the clock was the only 
sound. A man lay asleep on a bench. We 
woke him. "Where were the burros? the boat- 
men ? ' ' He pointed sleepily through a long col- 
onnade to the pier on the other side the dock. 

G plunged into the darkness, shouting u Sel- 

ima ! " We saw him at last on the other side, 
jumping over barrels, and screamed to him to be 
careful not to fall off the pier. He came back 
troubled. We could only suppose that the men 
were awaiting us at the upper landing, and hur- 
ried in that direction. 

The steamer lights bobbed up and down on 
the waves in the distance, and to our excited 
fancy she was already under weigh. We turned 
down to the water-side once more, and through 
a long dark arch. A soldier with glistening 



RED TAPE. 



129 



musket stood on guard, and eyed us suspiciously. 
A custom-house officer paced back and forth on 
the end of the quay. A pile of baggage lay 
near. The silhouettes of four jacks and their 
drivers were dimly distinguishable. The rattle 
of oars in their rowlocks approaching the quay 
could be heard. At sight of us, the men started 
up, and began to clamor for drink-money. 
Sternly reproving them for being "si tarde," 
we bade them begone, and ordered the baggage 
into the boat. 

"Nad he possivel, senhora" said the custom- 
house lackey. 

Triumphantly waving our license in his face, 
we persisted ; and he contented himself with call- 
ing our attention to the fact that it was good only 
till midnight. 

Impatient of further delay, we embarked. 
Nearly two miles of rough water lay between 
us and our steamer. Should we ever reach her? 
As we pulled under her black stern a cold chill 
came over me. A rope was thrown. It fell 
with a whack on our artist's head, knocking her 
spectacles into the bottom of the boat. 

The boat rose fearfully on the swell, and 
banged against the ship's steps. A figure leaned 



130 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



over the side of the ship, and asked half surlily, 
' ' What have you got there ? ' ' Some one beside 
him whispered, "It's the ladies." The captain 
ran down the steps. u So you've come at the 
last minute of grace," said he; and before we 
were fairly over the bulwarks we were steaming 
away for Madeira. 

A voluble Keltic stewardess received us, and 
put us to bed ; but the overstrained nerves re- 
fused to be quieted, and in that state of sleep- 
less exhaustion, which follows the most terrible 
tension, we passed the rest of the night. The 
next three days, like almost all days for me at 
sea, are a blank in my diary. 



MADEIRA. 



131 




MADEIRA. 

Tuesday, Sept. 9. 

jjUESDAY, Sept. 9, at five a.m., I crawled 
on deck. We were coasting along the 
southern shore of Madeira. The Ma- 
deira group consists of five islands, — Madeira, 
twelve miles wide by thirty-five miles long ; three 
small, uninhabited islands to the south-east of 
it, called the Desertas ; and Porto Santo, to the 
north-east. The latter is chiefly remarkable as 
having been the temporary abode of Columbus, 
while he was maturing his plans for a shorter 
passage to India. 

Although a volcanic island, Madeira presents 
a different appearance from the Azores, with few 
conical hills, and no apparent craters. A ser- 
rated ridge, rising in some of its peaks to the 
height of six thousand feet, forms, as in the 
others, the backbone of the island. From this 
central mass, at almost regular intervals, steep 



132 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

ridges, as if set as buttresses to the principal 
range, extend to the very shore. Between these 
ridges lie richly cultivated valleys, sloping up 
from the sea to the base of the central range ; 
and the shore at the foot of these valleys is 
indented, forming little hemispherical bays be- 
tween the headlands. Along these bays lie the 
villages of Madeira. 

The land seems to rise in very narrow, natural 
terraces from the sea, back upon the mountain- 
slopes, and in the intervening valleys. These 
terraces are of the most vivid green, being 
devoted to the culture of the sugar-cane. Sugar- 
mills are planted here and there along the shore. 
For twenty miles, we steam along quite near the 
shore. Soon the terraces disappear ; and instead 
of sloping sierras, the mountain-spurs terminate 
abruptly in magnificent precipices, with sheer 
faces from one to two thousand feet in height. 
These cliffs are of lava, of the general color of 
our old red sandstone, with broad seams of leady 
black, of burnt sienna, and of pure vermilion, 
crossing their faces in irregular lines. Their 
beauty of color, grandeur of form, and sub- 
limity of height are indescribable. 

Every accessible shelf of rock, every available 



MADEIRA. 



133 



spot, is cultivated, and clad in richest verdure. 
This is the region of vineyards from which the 
famous Madeira wine is made. 

A picturesque road round the island follows 
the windings of the shore. Now it is a nar- 
row shelf cut low down in the very face of the 
cliff. Then one may trace it far up on the 
dizzy heights. Now it is seen creeping round a 
rocky headland, through a tunnel lighted by 
window-slits blasted out of the solid cliff ; and 
anon it leaps from rock to rock on the very edge 
of the sea, on solid walls of masonry. 

At last two conical hills with depressed sum- 
mits appear ; and, rounding a low point, we find 
ourselves off u Loo Rock," the citadel so famil- 
iar to us in the geography pictures of our child- 
hood, — in the port of Funchal, the capital of 
Madeira. 

The town is compactly built with stone houses 
painted white, yellow, drab, or pink, two and 
three stories high, and nearly all with four-sided 
or pyramidal, tiled roofs. The chief part of it 
lies along the water-side, and the mountain-spurs 
rise steeply up from behind it to the highest 
point of land. 

Two immense gorges divide the island here 



134 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES, 



into three parts. The mountain-sides are dot- 
ted with handsome villas. A church with two 
tall, white towers stands far up, two thousand 
feet above the sea. The governor's residence, 
a long, yellow building, with arched windows, 
stands on the quay, from which a fine avenue of 
sycamores leads up into the town. 

Slowly steaming in, we pass an American brig 
anchored, with a yellow flag flying from her peak. 
It bodes no good to us. 

The bay is full of gayly painted boats, green, 
yellow, blue, black, orange, with a streak of 
white or orange at the top, and the keel rising as 
high as a man's head above the gunwale at both 
prow and stern. One bearing the Portuguese flag, 
and covered with an awning, draws solemnly up 
to the steamer. It is the " healthy boat," as our 
English-speaking Portuguese steward calls it, 
and contains our consignee and the "healthy 
doctor" in uniform. Our captain descends the 
steps. Hats are lifted. " Where do you hail 
from ? " — " New Bedford." — u How many pas- 
sengers? How many in steerage? Any sick- 
ness? Any deaths? A doctor on board?" 
Thank God, no sickness, no deaths, a good 
physician on board, yet the dreaded sentence is 



MADEIRA. 



135 



pronounced against us : " You must go into 
quarantine for at least five clays." All because 
of yellow fever at Memphis ! 

We are too proud to complain. Not a remon- 
strance is uttered. We all feel it would be use- 
less to argue against the idiotic red tape of such 
a government. One foolish individual, rather 
used up by seasickness, indulges in a few tears. 
Our captain, with polite satire, requests our con- 
signee to telegraph to John Tucker, Portuguese 
consul at New Bedford, to find out whether any 
deaths from yellow fever have occurred in that 
port since the sailing of the steamer. If not, we 
shall, of course, be free. 



136 A SUMMER JN THE AZORES. 



IN QUARANTINE OFF FUNCHAL. 

Tuesday, Sept. 9. 

GUARD is put on board. We are or- 
dered to hoist a yellow flag, and to 
anchor off far from the town on quar- 
antine ground. We feel like lepers, and pretty 
rnad lepers at that. 

An English steamer from the Gaboon steams 
in ahead of us. In an hour or two she will sail, 
and take letters. We fall to writing as a vent 
for our misery. It is exasperating to sit here 
seasick, within a stone' s-throw of the town, see- 
sawing on the tide, and drifting lazily round on 
our anchor-chains as the wind takes us, and see 
the other steamer discharge her cargo and pas- 
sengers. 

As if in mockery of our woe, a boat comes out, 
and brings Muscatel grapes, white, each one as 
large as a Brazil-nut, in clusters a foot long, 
one weighing eight pounds. We signal for a 




JN QUARANTINE OFF FUNCHAL. 137 



boat to carry our letters ashore. One pulls out, 
but it is ordered back by the guard to get leave 
from the custom-house to carry our letters to the 
post-office. Luckily the English steamer is de- 
layed in port. At five the custom-house boat 
with solemn official returns. Our letters are 
sent down. They pass through the hands of all 
the oarsmen into a fumigating box at the stern, 
and so go ashore. 

Night settles down. No answer to our de- 
spatch, which should have come hours ago. The 
waves run high. Evidently with the expectation 
of an attempt on the part of some of us to effect 
a landing, a guard-boat is sent out to watch the 
steamer. We see it hovering about us all the 
long, dark, squally night, and take a savage 
pleasure in hoping its occupants are as uncom- 
fortable as we are. We know now how Napo- 
leon felt at St. Helena. 

Wednesday, Sept. 10, still in quarantine ; far 
from shore ; a heavy swell ; a painful glare ; at 
the mercy of wind and tide, and every way mis- 
erable. It is now half-past eleven in the morn- 
ing ; half-past seven in New Bedford, and John 
Tucker not yet at his office. Dinner is hardly 
tasted. Even the captain is glum. At three 



138 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



in the afternoon, getting desperate, we hold 
council of war, and decide to memorialize the 
American consul. An eloquent appeal is drawn 
up. " Why," we inquire, " are not boat's crews, 
who handle infected letters, also regarded as in- 
fected ? Why may wine-presses and barrel-staves 
be landed from an infected ship? and why are 
we kept here as prisoners, when steerage pas- 
sengers with their bedding from our ship have 
been already discharged at the Azores? " 

A boat replied to our signal. E hands 

the letter over the ship's side to the boatmen. 
" Nad possivel!" shrieks the guard, snatching 
back the letter. "It cannot go." "It shall 
go," says our little woman; and the captain 
coming to her aid orders the guard to send for 
the 6 6 healthy doctor "to 4 'fazer hum visile. 9 9 So 
it takes six muscular men, and the healthy doc- 
tor, and four miles of hard rowing, to carry my 
inoffensive little missive ashore. A reply from 
our consul, to the effect that he considers our 
treatment as unwarrantable persecution, acts like 
a tonic on us. 

Thursday, Sept. 11, a boat attempting to 
bring us fruit and flowers is turned back by the 
guard. The coils are tightening about us. Ships 



IN QUARANTINE OFF FUNCHAL. 139 



from England, ships from Africa, come and go, 
and no relief yet. Another sunset, and not a 
word from home. . . . Such a sunset ! The 
Desertas bathed in glowing pink ; the eastern 
cliffs of Madeira itself, deep crimson softening to 
violet ; the dome-shaped peaks shining like bur- 
nished gold, and deepening to a rich copper-color 
in the fading light ; the gorges deep and black, 
and gauzy blue clouds floating over them. 

Friday, Sept. 12, the gentlemen rise at four 
in the morning to fish. It is a funny sight to 
see a row of full-grown men trolling their lines 
over the ship's side, with watch-keys for sinkers. 
Their piscatorial efforts are not crowned with 
success. Whole schools of a pale blue fish play 
about the ship, and bite off the sinkers without 
touching bait or hook. An abject punster re- 
marks that they want the keys for their watch 
below ; but we have reached the dogged state 
where we cannot even laugh at a bad joke. 

Breakfast goes off untouched. Finally a mel- 
ancholy voice at the stern says, " Here comes 
the boat with the awning." Nobody stirs. In 
the wake of the official boat, now appear one, 
two, three others. Evidently the danger of in- 
fection is over. We crowd to the steps. The 



140 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

captain descends. There is a painful silence of 
a few seconds. Will nobody ever speak? 

"It is all well at New Bedford," then slowly 
says the health-officer : " you are free." u Haul 
down that yellow flag, hoist the ensign ! " quickly 
shouts the captain. We applaud, the health-offi- 
cer scowls. 

It seems as if that dirty yellow rag would 
never come down. It quivers a little, then drops, 
and the dear old stars and stripes, the bonniest 
flag of all the earth, runs swiftly up to the peak, 
and streams in all its beauty to the breeze. Not 
a few eyes are streaming too. " Pshaw ! " says 
somebody, " don't be sentimental." Go out of 
sight of your flag, and out of hearing of the 
grand old Saxon speech, and live for a while 
under a petty despotism, and see how you feel 
about it then. 

Our friends from the shore boarded us to ten- 
der their congratulations ; but I am proud to say 
there were no 4t treats," no brandy and water, no 
wine, no beer. Capt. H is too high-princi- 
pled to fuddle his brain and palsy his hand with 
liquor, with a ship's company and cargo in 
charge. 



ASHORE IN MADEIRA. 



141 



ASHORE IN MADEIRA, 

Friday, Sept. 12. 

E pulled for the shore in one of the 
queer little boats, followed by a rickety 
old tub full of naked youngsters who 
clamored for silver. We threw small silver coins 
as far away from their boat as we could into deep 
water. They dived like lightning flashes from 
their boat side, and, seizing the coin before it 
touched bottom, shouted its value as they rose to 
the surface, puffing and blowing the water from 
their mouths. 

The surf ran high as we drew near the shelving 
beach. Three or four men stripped up their 
linen trousers to the hips, and, plunging into the 
tide, seized our stern, and fastened a rope to it, 
the other end of which was attached to two bull- 
ocks on shore. With goads and cries the bullocks 
were then urged ahead, and drew us, boat and 
all, high up on the shingly beach. So we finally 
got ashore at Madeira. 




142 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



The city of Funchal shows more signs of 
wealth and comfort than any we have seen in the 
other islands. Passing up through the beautiful 
avenue of familiar sycamores, we reached the 
Praga (Plaza), a promenade shaded by Madeira 
mahogany and Indian fig trees. It occupies the 
middle of the main street of the town. An 
ancient cathedral, containing a beautiful carved 
ceiling of juniper wood, stands at one end of the 
Praga. A quaint old fort with small peaked tur- 
rets at the angles is at the other. 

Followed by a crowd importunately begging or 
offering their wares, laces, woodwork, and bas- 
kets, we entered the market-place by a great stone 
gate. It is well shaded and paved. Women 
squatted on the pavement behind enormous bas- 
kets, containing, as it seemed to us, the fruits of 
all zones and seasons, — grapes of every color and 
kind, oranges, lemons, bananas, figs, mangoes, 
rose apples, guavas, apples, pears, nectarines, 
peaches, and melons. Inside the market-place 
is a circular building used as a circus. There is 
no theatre in Madeira, but the most popular 
shows are those that bear the name of an Amer- 
ican circus. One had just gone. It consisted 
of several athletes and a real lion. The latter 



ASHORE IN MADEIRA. 



143 



produced a great sensation, as heretofore only 
stuffed ones have been brought here. 

Adjoining the market-place is the Royal Edin- 
burgh Hotel, not half so grand as its name, but 
excellent in all respects. More like an English 
cottage than a hotel, in external appearance, it 
stands in the midst of a pleasant garden, which, 
like all estates in the islands we have visited, is 
surrounded by a wall of lava twelve feet high 
and two feet thick. The whole area is covered 
with a bowery trellis under which bloom roses, 
cape jessamine, hibiscus, and althaeas of every 
shade. 

From our dining-room great folding-doors are 
flung wide open upon a paved court-yard extend- 
ing along the back of the house, with a sea-wall 
against which the Atlantic softly surges. This 
court is a bower like the garden, formed by the 
skilful interlacing of the branches of trees, from 
which hang cages filled with tropical birds. Rare 
ferns everywhere ; lizards darting on the walls ; 
and wicker chairs tempting the lounger at every 
step. The English season lasts only from Octo- 
ber till May, and there are but few guests as yet. 



144 A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



QUEER CONVEYANCES. 

Friday, Sept. 12. 

S we must make the most of our time, 
we order a carro, or bullock-sledge, for a 
ride before dinner. These are the odd- 
est-looking vehicles imaginable. They are like 
two clumsy sleighs made of basket-work, broad 
and stubbed, with no dashers, but joined by their 
dasher ends. A little black, wooden door on 
either side, and on the door the number of the 
carro in great yellow figures. This awkward 
body is mounted on low, wooden runners with 
rounded ends, big and rudely fashioned. The 
cushions are covered with Turkey red ; and an 
iron frame- work supports the top, which is of 
black enamelled cloth. The front, back, and side 
curtains of the carro are of white cotton cloth. 
They are tied together with tapes, or left to fly in 
the breeze, as the occupant chooses. 

There is no front or back to the carro; and the 




QUEER CONVEYANCES. 



145 



team, a pair of yellowish bullocks, may be hitched 
at either end. The yoke is of the most primitive 
make, and the tongue of the sledge is fastened to 
it by a thong of ox-hide 4 with the hair on. 

A man with a heavy goad walks by the side of 
the sledge. A boy, with a switch of horse-hair, 
goes ahead of the cattle. He keeps the flies from 
the bullocks, and guides them with the butt end 
of the switch and loud cries of u Ca ca ooa ca 
jiara mi boi!" (Come, whoa, come here to me, 
O oxen !) The business of the man is to keep 
the sledge from sliding on the steep hills and 
round the street-corners. This he does some- 
times by thrusting his goad under the runner, and 
sometimes by bracing himself by the shoulders 
against the body of the carro. Now and then he 
runs ahead of the sledge, and throws down under 
the runners a great bag of grease to make their 
passage easier. 

There are no carriages in the town, as it would 
be impossible to use them on the steep streets of 
the island. In fact, there are no wheeled vehicles 
on the island. Ladies make their calls on horse- 
back or in hammocks. On horseback they carry 
their parasols, and are attended by a burreqidero, 
or muleteer, who leads the animal, and keeps off 
the flies with the horse-tail switch. 



146 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



Hammock-riding is carried to perfection in 
Funchal. One hires a hammock and bearers at 
the street-corner, as one would a hack in Boston. 
The hammock is covered at one end with a canopy 
of pink or blue cambric, and a broad frill of the 
same depending from the two edges of the ham- 
mock conceals the recumbent form of the occu- 
pant. Each has its mattress and pillow. Espe- 
cially acceptable to ladies and invalids, it must 
not be supposed that they are disdained by the 
stronger sex. On the contrary, one meets the 
robust business man returning to his late dinner, 
reclining luxuriously in his hammock, and reading 
his mail or his evening paper as he goes. 

All the trucking is done on a vehicle like a 
stone-boat, a mere plank not more than eighteen 
inches wide, drawn by bullocks. 

The streets are paved with small beach-stones 
set on their edges, and the roadway is often divided 
into three narrow sections by two rows of larger 
cobble-stones. There are no sidewalks ; and the 
pavements are worn so flat and polished so smooth 
by the constant passage of the carros with the 
grease-bags, that it is next to an impossibility for 
a pedestrian in shoes to get up the steep, slippery 
streets. 



QUEER CONVEYANCES. 147 



The carro is a pleasant though not a rapid 
mode of conveyance. We rode for some miles 
along the shore between high walls and under 
trellises covered with great masses of bougain- 
villea in full bloom. We passed the Consump- 
tives' Home, a free hospital founded by the Queen 
of Portugal, whose daughter died here of that 
terrible disease. Madeira, with a dry, bracing air, 
and a mean temperature of 65°, is now considered 
preferable to the South of Europe for incipient 
pulmonary disease. We alighted at the Portu- 
guese cemetery. The grave-stones contained tin- 
types of the deceased. All along the walls were 
bougainvilleas with trunks as large as a child's 
body. 



148 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



SIGHT-SEEING. 

Saturday, Sept. 13. 

E go out early for a tour through the 
shops. They abound in inlaid work, 
displaying to the best advantage the 
beautiful cabinet woods from which the island 
takes its name. The basis of all the inlaid work 
is the Til wood, which is found only on this island 
and the Canaries. It resembles rosewood in color 
and in capacity for fine polish. 

We found embroideries equalling those of the 
French, both in quality and cost ; baskets, grass 
mattings, and wicker furniture for a mere song. 
Monkeys, with parrots and other gay birds from 
the African coast, were exposed for sale at the 
shop-doors. 

The streets were full of peasants, many in 
holiday costume, — the women in large red flan- 
nel capes, and laced bodices of some brilliantly 
contrasting color ; the men in shirts and Turkish 




SIGHTSEEING. 



149 



trousers of white linen, with bright- colored sus- 
penders ; both sexes in broad collars buttoned 
with a couple of large gold buttons ; little skull- 
caps of dark-blue broadcloth, prolonged into a 
sort of tail, stuffed and standing up stiffly from 
the crown, with scarlet lapels on the rim. High 
white leather boots, quite loose in the leg, which 
is turned down in a broad flap at the top, com- 
plete the costume of both. 

From the shops we went to the cathedral of 
Santa Clara, being to our surprise first introduced 
to the convent adjoining the church. Our carro- 
driver seated us before a large double grating, a 
cruel separation between the nuns and the outer 
world, because neither hand nor lips can reach 
between to touch other hands and lips that are 
dear. 

The abbess, a big old woman of seventy, in a 
full robe of shiny black cambric, took her seat 
on the other side of the grating. A tight fitting 
cap of black cambric came down in a point over 
her nose, arching over her eyes. She produced 
for sale to the strangers some ugly feather-flowers. 
Against our consciences we bought some, and we 
asked the lady superior how long she had been in 
the convent. Ever since she was eight years old, 



150 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



with the exception of two short intervals, when, 
on account of illness, she was allowed to go out. 
Sixty years of isolation from the world, with the 
mistaken idea that she was doing God's service 
with no better occupation towards her own devel- 
opment and that of others than the making of 
feather-flowers ! 

In the church is the tomb of Zarco, the dis- 
coverer of Madeira, a much-decorated Gothic 
arch, and three animals couchant at the base, so 
old and worn that we could not distinguish what 
they were meant for. The walls of the church 
are high and entirely covered with large and bril- 
liant-colored tiles of various designs. Here and 
there they are combined in large pictures illustrat- 
ing scriptural subjects. 

After lunch another ride in the carro. Leaving 
the town behind, we pulled up the almost per- 
pendicular streets for more than a mile, between 
high walls, in the crevices of which grew the 
beautiful maiden-hair fern, — Adiantum ccqiillus 
Veneris. High above our heads were trellises 
arching from wall to wall, covered with vines, 
from which drooped great bunches of purple and 
white grapes. Olive-skinned faces peered at us 
over the walls, and baby hands were stretched 
out to us, begging for money. 



SIGHT-SEEING. 



151 



We finally reached a high ridge of table-land, 
where a road ran at right angles with our ascent. 
The driver invited us to alight ; and we followed 
him up a long flight of stone steps to a beautiful 
private garden filled with rare flowers, — great 
masses of the yellow trumpets of the allamancla ; 
immense bougainvilleas ; roses, pale yellow on 
the outside, and blood-red at the heart ; the most 
fantastic orchids, and several kinds of palm- 
trees. 

In the middle of the garden is an enormous 
trunk of an old chestnut-tree said to be over two 
hundred years old. One cannot imagine a tree 
of its size. The Connecticut River elms are 
nothing to it. Rare vines are twining over the 
gnarled trunk, and the mutilated stumps of its 
giant arms are hidden in a mass of greenery. 
From the garden we went into an adjoining field 
to see a Til-tree, which somewhat resembles the 
oak in general growth, arrangement of its 
branches, and in its fruit. Its foliage is like 
that of the classic laurel, — the leaves in clusters, 
dark green, shiny, oval, and acuminate at base. 

Following the road round the plateau, we spied 
great stone pines far above us, whose flat tops 
are so familiar to us in Italian sketches. A 



152 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

rapid, noisy stream of sparkling and icy-cold 
water flowed by the roadside in an artificial chan- 
nel a foot wide ; a great volume of water evi- 
dently flowing with some purpose. The " Lava- 
da,' ' said our driver in answer to our inquiring 
look ; and we guessed that this stream supplied 
the town with water for purposes of irrigation. 
It was even so. The mountain springs and 
brooks are collected in great tanks, or artificial 
ponds, far up on the heights, from which several 
main conduits take the water to the lower table- 
lands. From here many branches are directed 
down the steep streets, from which special water- 
courses lead into each man's fields and vineyard. 
The necessity of this provision was obvious, 
when we were informed that no rain had fallen in 
Funchal for five months. 

After dinner at six, we sat down in a balcony 
overhanging the sea. In front of us lay the 
great English transport-ship, "The Euphrates," 
six thousand tons burden. She sailed in to-day 
with the Thirteenth Regiment, which has been 
absent fourteen years from England, and is now 
fresh from the Zulu war. There are two thou- 
sand men aboard the ship, and one of the best 
bands in the English service, which plays all the 
evening. 



SIGHT-SEEING. 



153 



The port of Funchal is very lively by compari- 
son with those of the Azores. It has telegraphic 
communication with all creation by cable to Lis- 
bon and Brazil. We are but two days by steamer 
from Lisbon, one and a half from Teneriffe, five 
days from Cape Town, and four from Liverpool. 
Steamers from Havre, Antwerp, Hamburg, Lis- 
bon, and Bordeaux are constantly touching here. 
Ships from England, ships from Africa, come 
and go daily. The people here speak of Africa 
with the same neighborly familiarity as the 
Azoreans do of " the Brazils." 

Some of our ship's company entertain us with 
their day's adventures, and are especially excited 
over the horsemanship of Capt. S — — , a Nan- 
tucket whaleman, who, they declared, got off on 
the wrong side of his horse. " Wall," cried the 
captain, "I got off the lee side, anyway, and 
I'll leave it to the company" — But the gallant 
captain did not finish his sentence ; for the roar 
that followed " the lee side of a horse " may be 
imagined. 



154 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 




ON HORSEBACK. 

Sundaiji Sept. 14. 

T nine a.m. we set out for an excursion 
to the church of Nossa Senhora de 
Monte (Our Lady of the Mountain), two 
thousand feet above the sea. The cavalcade 
consisted of the whalemen, the doctor, the chief 
engineer, the collegian, and two other gentlemen 
on horseback ; the artist and the invalid, each in 
her hammock with its escort of three men ; and I 
on a spirited black horse with a man to lead him 
on occasion. 

After the gentle little donkeys of the Azores, 
the great restive horse seemed really terrible. 
How any horse, even though shod with spiked 
shoes, can ascend the precipitous streets, is a 
mystery. There is absolutely no foothold. On 
the steepest places the road is paved in curving 
ridges with narrow furrows between ; and the 
great creatures, selecting their way sagaciously, 



ON HORSEBACK. 



155 



literally jump up with short leaps from one ridge 
to another, holding with firm grip to each. The 
sensation to a lady rider on a small, slippery 
leather saddle, with a seat insecure under the 
best of circumstances, can be better imagined 
than described. The angle of the road was such, 
that my knee on the saddle-horn pressed against 
my body, and every upward leap of the horse 
threw me back, and threatened to unseat me. It 
was terribly trying to nerve and muscle. 

So, by a series of jerks and jumps, we reached 
the Lavada, and wound in and up till we came 
out on the edge of the terrible gorge which ter- 
minates higher up in what is called the Little 
Corral. Our plan was to ascend on one side of 
this gorge to a height opposite the church, de- 
scend into the gorge, wind up to "Our Lady" 
on the other side, and coast down on one of 
the famous coasting-sleds of Madeira. Mother 
Goose's famous melody of the 

" Three children sliding on the ice, 
All on a summer's day," 

is entirely eclipsed in Funchal by a coast from 
the Mount Church to the city, down which gen- 
tlemen coast on summer mornings from their 



156 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



villas to their counting-rooms, a distance of over 
two miles, in from eight to fifteen minutes. 

The views as we went up were sublime. All 
the south side of the island lay before us sloping 
sharply to the sea, the whole landscape ethereal- 
ized by a rare and delicious atmosphere. Loo 
Rock looked like a little black hat-box that had 
floated off shore. 

Fresh streams of pure water flowed beside us. 
The mountain-sides rose steeply in terraces from 
shore to summit. It seemed as if the land had 
slipped at different times, forming steps two or 
three feet deep, and thirty to forty wide. The 
people, taking advantage of these natural terraces, 
wall them up and plant thereon sugar-cane, sweet 
potatoes, and vines. There are hundreds of these 
narrow shelves between the shore and the height 
we finally attained. 

We wound between ledges of the American 
agave, whose pale blue bayonets bristled at the 
light and left of us. Eucalyptus-trees trembled 
above us ; the snaky leaves of the prickly pear 
crept over the banks which were matted with the 
Hedera Canariensis in full bloom. The sensitive 
foliage of the delicate mimosa stood in strange 
juxtaposition with the commonly called English 



ON HORSEBACK. 



157 



walnut, but more properly the Madeira nut, since 
it flourishes best in this island. Finally we came 
to a little inn perched on a broader terrace over- 
hanging the gorge, picturesquely nestled in a 
grove of mimosa-trees with foliage as iridescent 
as we sometimes see the lycopedium in green- 
houses. 

The men rested the hammock-poles upon a 
wall, and by turns went in for a smoke and a 
draught of Madeira wine. The gentlemen dis- 
mounted. I kept my seat. The clouds came 
down to our level, and it began to rain hard. 
We were tired and chilly, and gladly sipped a 
little of the soft, rich wine. Very little genuine 
Madeira wine ever finds its way to the United 
States. It is made from a mixture of black and 
white grapes, and when three or four years old 
is of a rich topaz color. Wine of this age is 
retailed in the shops for fifty cents a bottle, and 
the newer from twenty-five to thirty-six cents. 

After our rest and refreshing, we began the* 
descent. It would have been difficult for a don- 
key : it looked impossible for horses. The path, 
a series of sharp zigzags just wide enough for 
the animal and his leader. A sheer precipice 
down hundreds of feet at the left ; and at the 



158 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



right a solid wall towering as high, in the clefts 
of which grew the rarest and most beautiful ferns. 
Down we drop gradually and anxiously by a 
series of rugged, rocky steps, wet and slippery, 
only wide enough for the horse to plant his fore- 
feet upon them with a cautious jump, and care- 
fully draw his hind-feet after. 

The rain increases. All outside of the ham- 
mocks are wet to the skin. We meet a peasant 
in his Sunday clothes on his way up to a dance 
at the inn. He is singing and twanging his re- 
quinta as he goes. I scream with delight at the 
sight of a grotto filled with a little kidney-leaved 
fern. My burrequiero, desirous to please me, 
scrambles up the bank, and clutching a handful 
runs ahead to the hammocks with it. My horse, 
fully aware of my helplessness, indulges in a 
little curvetting. The doctor's becomes unman- 
ageable. Our Portuguese friend on his little 
pony, encourages and warns us. A few miserable 
thatched roofs appear on the terrace below us ; 
behind them a narrow lane, through which we 
see the gallant captain charging bravely, and gen- 
erously pouring coppers into the uplifted hands 
outstretched on either side. Soon we come out 
on a paved street beside the church. I am lifted 



ON HORSEBACK. 



159 



dripping from my horse, and join my friends 
whose hammocks are surrounded by a gaping 
crowd in the church porch. 

Mass is over ; but we enter the church, which 
is one of the oldest in Madeira. One occupying 
the same place was built soon after the discovery 
of the island, and the present structure is one 
hundred and eighty years old. A large parish 
is settled about it in a wide circuit, and the crowd 
at the festa days of the church is immense. They 
camp in the woods all about, and sing all night. 
The altar was surrounded with the votive offer- 
ings one sees everywhere in a Catholic country. 
Sallow wax models of every part of the human 
body, legs, arms, breasts, ears, noses, distorted 
baby feet, and faces horribly life-like. These 
represent diseased members of persons, whose 
kindred have vowed these commemorative offer- 
ings to the Virgin on condition of the recovery 
of their beloved. 

The priest in attendance took us into an ad- 
joining shed, to show us a great round stone like 
a bomb-shell. He gravely told us that in the 
last revolution this ball was fired from the town 
below, and was found lying on the altar, and 
nothing damaged in or about the church. One 



160 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



of us sceptics took the liberty to inquire how the 
ball got in. He looked nonplused for a second, 
then replied blandly, " Oh, a window was open I * ' 
The impossibility of elevating a cannon at the 
necessary angle, and the impossibility of the re- 
sult, seemed not to occur to the mind of the Por- 
tuguese gentleman who accompanied us. 

The priest then went on to relate the story of 
some sacrilegious robbers, who, after rifling the 
church of the sacred utensils, were restrained by 
some superhuman power from escaping with 
their booty. Neither bolt nor bar prevented them ; 
but they could not go, and so were easily caught 
and sent to prison. The gentlemen — except the 
doctor, who was Puritanically principled against 
it — having deposited their offerings in the poor- 
box, we went out, the rain still pouring, to the 
sled stand. 



COASTING. 



161 




COASTING. 

Sunday, Sept. 14. 

|HE sled holds two people, and is like the 
carro cut in halves, — a wicker body 
! on low wooden runners, projecting a 
little, and rounded at both ends, to prevent acci- 
dent. Two men guide each sled. A stout rope 
extends from the point of each runner to the 
hand of the guide on either side. 

The steep street, which is paved with small 
beach-stones set on their edges, and is worn flat, 
and polished by the constant passage of carro 
and sled, is unusually slippery to-day after the 
rain. The men dare not give the sled her head. 
It is very dangerous. With one hand firmly on 
the back of the sled, the other grasping the rope, 
they plant their bare feet squarely on the smooth 
pavement, and brace back with all their strength. 
Their pose and action are superb. One man 
falls, and is dragged some distance, but manfully 



162 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

clings to the rope, and keeps us in the track. 
"We go very slowly ; but, to us novices, it seems 
quite fast enough. 

We coast under trellises arching from wall to 
wail, between which the road winds. Some of 
these trellises are covered with great masses of 
bougainvillea in full bloom ; others bear squash- 
vines, with immense squashes supported by straps. 
Lower down, men are picking huge clusters of 
purple and white grapes, and drop them down 
into the sledge for us to eat as we go. 

At last we reach the rain-level : the guides put 
on their shoes, and the fearful race begins. 
Running a little way till the sled acquires a mo- 
mentum, the guides then jump upon the hind- 
ends of the runners, where they stand on one 
foot, guiding the sled by the ropes and the free 
foot. There are four sleds. The runners of 
those ahead of us smoke, and smell of burning 
wood. We hold our breath, and, frightened, 
clutch each other's hands. Our speed is terrific. 
To our horror, we in the last sled, being a little 
behind the rest, see a lady on horseback slowly 
advancing up the hill. It seems impossible for 
us to pass her safely, even if she hugs the wall, 
and her horse be quiet. It takes but an instant 



COASTING. 



163 



to see that he is not quiet, and that the approach- 
ing sled terrifies him. In this instant a lifetime 
is lived. There is a dreadful vision of three wom- 
en killed or mangled ; one, still more to be pitied, 
spared to tell the tale at home. Just as we reach 
them, the horse pulls away from his leader, turns 
his nose to the wall, his hind-quarters to the sled. 
We cower, throw ourselves far over to the other 
side ; our runner strikes the horse's ankle, and 
throws him and his rider entirely clear of our 
track. She and we are safe ! Not a shriek nor 
a word has escaped any of us ; but the two in the 
sled are faint and exhausted from the impending 
peril. 

A few more dizzy zigzags, and we are at the 
bottom. Fifteen minutes coasting, including one 
or two stops, has accomplished what we were two 
hours and a half doing on horseback. 

Our Portuguese escort urged us to partake of a 
" f ew sweets" at his house, before returning to 
our hotel. We were ushered into his parlor, 
which presented the appearance of a New-Eng- 
land sitting-room during spring-cleaning, — bare 
floor, dusty furniture, etc. He apologized for 
the room, assuring us that " it was usually quite 
clean ; but we are now in mourning for my aunt, 



164 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



and of course it is in disorder." Why cleanli- 
ness should be incompatible with grief, we were 
left to imagine. On the centre-table was a 
superb antique Chinese plaque, filled with black- 
edged visiting-cards, which our host exhibited 
with much pride, as testimonials of the sympathy 
of his many friends ! 

We finish our last shopping in Madeira that 
Sunday afternoon, and at four o'clock weigh 
anchor, bound again for the Azores. 



IN THE AZORES AGAIN. 



165 



IN THE AZORES AGAIN. 

Wednesday, Sept. 17. 

ETURNING to San Miguel, we visited 
the largest crater of the Azores, — that 
of the Sete Cidades, or Seven Cities. 
San Miguel is supposed to be nearer the centre 
of submarine volcanic action than the other 
islands. When first discovered, it was a broad 
and verdant plain. Returning later, with the 
intention of colonizing it, its discoverer found 
the plain elevated hundreds of feet into a moun- 
tain, which, in allusion to the projected settle- 
ments, now bears the name of the place of the 
Seven Cities. This crater is three and a half 
miles long by two miles wide, fifteen to eighteen 
hundred feet deep, and is occupied by two large 
lakes fourteen fathoms in depth, and named from 
their difference in color, — Lagoa Azul and 
Lagoa Verde. 

The culture of the pine-apple is now receiving 



166 



A SUMMER IN TEE AZORES. 



much attention on this island ; and we had an 
opportunity to taste this delicious fruit in its per- 
fection. It grows very large, is of a deep yellow 
color, and luscious flavor. A few Chinamen have 
been imported, and the cultivation of the tea- 
plant attempted on some estates with good 
success. 

Friday, Sept. 19, we leave San Miguel at 
half-past four in the afternoon. I take my tea 
bravely on deck ; but soon after, by the captain's 
advice, we all go below. Hardly are we settled 
in our comfortless berths, before the ship begins 
plunging and pitching, rolling and standing first 
on her beam-ends, and then on her bow. It is a 
frightful hour. A pile of lumber is overturned, 
and comes crashing down ; the ship steps beaten 
and broken against her sides ; the gangway lad- 
ders thrown down, and bull's-eyes stove in. 

One huge wave strikes us, and a great shriek 
goes up from all. It seems as if the ship could 
never right herself. Hogsheads of whale-oil get 
loose in the hold, and go bumping with every 
lurch of the ship from side to side. The stew- 
ard's crockery is smashed ; the purser's pottery 
follows. This is the climax. The gale mod- 
erates, and we have a better night, though the 
lolling of the vessel is fearful. 



JN THE AZORES AGAIN. 



1G7 



Strangely enough, when the squall was at its 
height I was not seasick. As long as fear pos- 
sessed me, seasickness did not molest me ; but 
with the abatement of the storm my old enemy 
returned in full force, — a fact that proves how 
much the mind and nerves have to do with the 
malady. 

The first mate was on watch, and graphically 
described the approach of the wave. "I see it 
comin', and I froze to the windlass, and every 
thing near me went spinninV The captain said, 
"It came on in a solid wall like a tidal wave," 
and he never saw its like before. 

Monday, Sept. 22, Pico with all its craters 
looms up ahead of us. A whale-ship is beating 
about to the north of Fayal. We see the two 
men at the mast-head on the lookout for whales. 
He who first spies one is said to u raise a 
whale," and gets ten dollars bounty money from 
the owners. At noon we drop anchor in Horta 
bay, and boatman Jo comes aboard with letters 
from the States. It seems like getting home ; 
and we forget for a moment that fourteen days 
of autumn gales, and two thousand miles of 
stormy sea, separate us from dear old Massa- 
chusetts. 



168 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

Fayal is the rendezvous of the whalers from 
the neighboring whaling grounds, and we found 
the harbor full of them. At the hotel we made 
the acquaintance of many of the captains and 
their wives ; and they are indeed a splendid type 
of New-England character. Shrewd and self- 
possessed, calm and heroic in time of danger, 
modest in success, hopeful under disappoint- 
ment, full of faith and courage and of a simple 
piety of the old Puritanic stamp, never boastful, 
but quiet and self-contained, they are a band 
of brothers, emulous without rivalry, and with 
a genuine admiration of each other's valor. 

Capt. C and his wife are much looked 

up to by the rest. He is a sunburnt fellow, 
sober, silent, and retiring ; like all the rest, in 
the usual shore clothes of the sailor, blue broad- 
cloth suit and white waistcoat. His wife is a 
fine specimen of a smart Yankee woman. In 
her shiny alpaca gown, and stiff lace ruffle at 
her throat, she is as trig as her own brig.. Her 
husband seems very proud of her, but is himself 
of gentler mien. Each defers pleasantly to the 
other, and neither is self-asserting. 

It is whispered to me, by one of their felloe- 
townsmen, that they are 4i well out; " that they 



IN TEE AZORES AGAIN. 169 



own their vessel, u and a nice two-story house 
with green blinds ; " that they have no children ; 

and that ' fc Miss C she has sailed with her 

husband goin' on sixteen years;" also, that she 
"takes the sun," that is, she makes the obser- 
vations, and computes the latitude and longitude 
when her husband is busy with the oil. 

" You must get Miss C to tell you how she 

saved her husband's life with hot plates," con- 
tinued my informant. After much urging, she 
told us the story, in a subdued voice, with an 
admirable reserve and dignity, and a solemn 
sense of the awful peril through which her hus- 
band had passed. They had captured a whale, 
and got it alongside to cut up. The jaws were 
unusually large ; and the captain himself was 
occupied in getting the upper one, which contains 
the whalebone of commerce, out from the head. 
As is usual, an immense iron hook was inserted 
in the lower jaw, attached to chains and blocks in 
the rigging, by which it was lifted. Within the 
cavity of the mouth thus formed, on a platform 
rigged over the ship's side, directly above the 
upper jaw, the captain stood hard at work, care- 
fully cutting out the thin plates of whalebone 
from the upper jaw. His wife came up from 



170 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 

below, looked over the side at her husband's 
position, and exclaimed, u O William, how dan- 
gerous that looks ! ' ' 

At that instant the hook gave way, the horri- 
ble jaw fell, crushing the staging to splinters, 
shutting the captain within the awful cavern of 
the mouth, and burying him under water. The 
cruel teeth penetrated the flesh of his back, 
goring him terribly ; but the waves buoyed up 
the great jaw, and the captain, with the most 
remarkable presence of mind, feeling himself 
loosed, pushed his feet against the ship's side, 
and so kicked himself clear of the whale's mouth. 

He was picked up for dead, and lifted on 
deck. He made signs that he was dying, and 
that he did not wish to be carried below. 
"But," said his wife, "I wa'n't a-goin' to give 
him up so : I told the men to carry him below ; I 
stripped off his wet clothes. His face was gashed 
and bleeding ; he couldn't breathe ; he gasped 
now and then ; he was cold as death. I told the 
steward to heat all the plates there was on the 
ship, and I covered him with hot plates till I 
begun to feel him growing warm. Then I poured 
brandy into him. For five days and nights, I, 
and a man from forrard, watched and nursed 



IN TEE AZORES AGAIN. 



171 



him. I wrapped him in poultices as big as a 
sheet, and changed them every twenty minutes, 
to take the soreness out of him ; and so he 
lived." 

Then, after a moment's pause, entirely ignor- 
ing her own grand part in the matter, the cap- 
tain's wife added earnestly, "But he couldn't 
have lived if he'd ben a drinking man. He'd 
always ben strictly temperate : so, when he needed 
the brandy, it brought him right up." It was 
the best temperance lecture I ever heard. 

U I dunno about the brandy," said the captain 
quietly. "I guess brandy couldn't have done 
much for me, without my wife ; but, anyhow, I 
hain't never meddled much with whales' jaws 
sence." 

Before there was a hotel in Fayal, the consul's 
house was the resort of the whalemen and their 
wives ; and it was no uncommon thing for eigh- 
teen or twenty to happen in to dinner. This 
hospitable family gave us many thrilling tales of 
the dangers and daring of these people ; of the 
tenderness, devotion, and valor of the men, and 
the courage, the fortitude, the energy and self- 
sacrifice of the women. 

There was a humorous side to some of these 



172 A SUMMER IN THE AZORES, 

anecdotes, that bordered on the pathetic. On 
one occasion, the consul's wife, seeing one of 
the women, who had not been ashore for six 
months, sitting bolt upright in a stiff chair, 
politely urged her to lie down upon the couch 
and rest. " No, I thank you," said the woman : 
" I've ben a-layin' for six months, and I think 
I'd rather set a spell." 



ADEOS! 



173 



ADEOS ! 

Saturday, Sept. 27. 




LL too soon came the day for parting 
from the simple, kindly Azorean folk. 
Begging for the last moment of grace, 
our captain sends us word we need not go on 
board till midnight. The day is like a June day 
in New England ; sky and sea so fair and calm. 

We saunter out to Porto Pirn in the after- 
noon. The little narrow street is full of sun- 
shine. Women lean out of their casements to 
gaze at us for the last time. By the shore, bare- 
legged boatmen are rolling hogsheads of sperm 
oil into their lighters. Others are repairing their 
boats, drawn up high and dry on the beach. 
The women sit in the bows knitting, while the 
men hammer, and the babies roll in the sand. 

The quay is a busy scene. Men are running 
in all directions with cargo and provisions for 
the u Vapor ; " custom-house officials blustering ; 
the Pico boats with lateen sails dancing up and 
down by the steps» 



174 



A SUMMER IN THE AZORES. 



We sit down upon the sea-wall to watch the 
sunset. The surf, as it breaks against the oppo- 
site shore, is tinted with the rosy glow that 
creeps over the mountain, as a blush suffuses the 
cheek of a maiden. The ships, hurrying out to 
sea with all sails set, are like a crimson flock 
of tropical birds, flitting westward. The sky is 
red and golden ; and soft, dun-colored clouds 
float behind the volcano. 

For a moment the sea is a crimson flood. 
Gradually a gauzy blue mist gathers at the base 
of Pico, and, spreading upward like a veil drawn 
over the beautiful picture, the ruddy glory of the 
mountain deepens into purple gloom. So ever 
after the glow follows the gloom. 

Silently, sorrowfully, we watch the twilight 
stealing on. The rosy clouds fade away, and 
the mountain lies black against a pale, blue sky, 
and belted with a strip of silvery mist ; the sea 
below is a mirror of steel, with the little boats 
silhouetted in black on its surface. 

Afar on the western horizon, the ships sail 
by, no longer with sails pink-flushed, but chalky 
white, with hulls and masts of inky blackness. 
So the day ends, and with it our summer in the 
Azores. 



1 



